


You Belong in a Gallery

by gr8escap



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, Modern AU, PTSD, Skinny Steve, mention of past drunken non-con, mention of past suicide ideation, partial deafness/hoh steve, veteran amputee bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:01:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 55,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gr8escap/pseuds/gr8escap
Summary: Brooklyn Gallery owner and successful comic artist Skinny!Steve Rogers has overcome a lot in his life. He just hasn’t figured out the dating scene. Veteran!Bucky Barnes returned home from Afghanistan minus an arm, but after a rough patch, he has goals to become a graphic designer and even a video game developer. He just has to get through his temporary work as a construction worker so he can get back to school. The pair meets and works to overcome their personal struggles at the same time exploring whatever this is between them that’s moving so fast.





	1. Chapter 1

Looking around the coffee shop, with its exposed brick and shiny copper espresso machine with chunky handcrafted mugs dangling from wrought iron “trees”, Steve stuffed his ink-stained hands into his trouser pockets as he waited in line behind the construction crew. He shook his head as he saw the barista take a bracing breath and force a very strained smile in response to something that was said. Steve tried to offer her a reassuring smile before ducking his head, dragging his long fingers out of the front pockets to tuck a lock of bangs away from his forehead. With the movement, he spotted the perfect specimen to draw, paint, and worship for life, sitting at the nearest table.

Steve blushed at the thought even as he committed the man’s features to memory. The man with the beautiful, heart shaped face, silvery blue eyes, and thick, long, chestnut hair watched as he openly stared. His full pink lips turned up, exposing the potential for a dimple.

Steve made a note to go say something – hopefully normal – to the man as soon as he had coffee in his hand and could take a swig. He knew he wouldn’t be able to form normal words to someone so… hot… without an invigorating pull of strong, hot, caffeinated bliss.

Disappointment drained Steve of every fanciful thought as he watched Mr. Perfect stand up when the brash, abusive construction workers had their drinks, and leave with them, laughing at some joke he couldn’t hear. He recognized the construction workers as the same ones that had recently been making his every day at the gallery miserable.

Walking toward the gallery with his coffee in hand, Steve looked around the historic neighborhood alive with renovations. Steve typically enjoyed the evidence of change. He chose the space for his gallery in an area that was being renovated because of the promise of change. Ordinarily he would smile when he saw the window washers, he enjoyed the sparkle they added to his windows, but today he couldn’t find the joy.

Today was the twelfth day of change in which Steve could find no appreciation. The office across from his gallery was being gutted and the construction crew was loud, they were lewd, and they had found their own sort of joy in making Steve’s life miserable. Somehow Steve _knew_ the “new guy” would be no different.

At two minutes to opening, Steve surveyed his reflection in the freshly cleaned window. He pushed the hair from his eyes, straightened his suspenders, and wondered if he unbuttoned that top button, would his scar show? He was glad that his heart was stronger, but he hated the stares he received when the shiny, pale mark would draw someone’s eye from his. He was already at a vertical disadvantage, standing all of five foot four, and only a couple of his friends, women at that, were smaller than he was. To have a client’s gaze drop another foot was pretty damned obvious.

Muffled sounds of laughter and a sharp slamming noise sounded around him when slats of wood were unceremoniously dropped from an unnecessary height across the way, echoing throughout the building. Steve knew the origin of the the sound, even if it seemed to come from everywhere. He was getting good at not reacting to the almost predictable noises. He knew what those assholes were doing. He’d already provided top-notch entertainment for them by leaping out of his skin the first time, and jumping pretty high the second. By the third time in as many hours, Steve had figured out their game.

He was giving them a laugh; the odd little artist guy, jumping, as they said, “like a scared rabbit”. He heard more muffled laughter, and prepared for another round, but instead, muffled voices replaced the laughs. Steve shook his head in disgust, and headed to the back office. He would close the door and shut out the whole ordeal, if he didn’t have a business to run, but being out of sight would have to suffice. He’d never wished he could hear less before, coveting the ability to shut out the aural assault by turning off or removing his hearing aid. He didn’t have that luxury, he reminded himself. This was adult life and his business depended on him interacting with clients who could come through the door.

Deafness wasn’t the issue. Assholes who thought that size and strength were more masculine and that making people who didn’t fit their ideal for masculinity look exceedingly effeminate made them appear even stronger to their peers and increased their brute appeal overall, was the issue.

Unfortunately, because the new door system was on backorder, he couldn’t close his office door for fear of missing potential clients and customers. He took a drink from his glass water bottle, set it on the coaster on his desk and set about doing paperwork for the gallery. He’d have to hope that being out of sight meant out of mind.

* * *

 

The sound of laughter among his coworkers brought a half-smile to Bucky’s lips until he saw what followed the initial burst of hysterical laughter. Across the foyer, in the gallery next door, stood a young man. At second glance, judging by the set of his angled jaw, and his furrowed brow, he was older than he appeared. Bucky recognized him as the cutie from the coffee shop earlier in the morning. How could he not? He was stunning. There he stood, with his narrow shoulders rigid and proud, as two of Bucky’s coworkers simultaneously dropped their ends of the wood planks that were destined to become flooring for this office.

Bucky flinched at the sound before calling them out with a loud “Hey!” Not one to insert himself into discussions all too often since returning from the Middle East, he felt this warranted more than just sitting by and letting them think his smile before their torment was acceptance of their behavior. “What’s the big deal? You're not being paid to torture people. Leave the guy alone.”

“Dude didn’t you see? It’s funny, harmless fun.” Joe’s heavy Jersey accented voice sounded behind Pete. He was always just behind Pete when he spouted off, “Little rabbit almost always jumps. Flinches at the very least.”

‘Yeah, well I did too.’ Bucky thought. “It’s _not_ funny. Not funny at all. Abrupt, loud noises can really screw with a guy.”

“Ooh, watch out guys, Barnes is gonna pull the veteran card.”

“No man,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “Barnes here is gonna pull the human decency card.” When the cute guy at the gallery turned toward the back office, Bucky spotted his hearing aid, and his anger was ignited all over again. “I need a break.” Bucky announced before stalking outside. The stress from the confrontation had his muscles tense, his neck, and shoulder burned. He flinched and reached to rub his neck with his good hand to soothe the taught muscles as shooting pains ran past the stump of his left arm and he imagined it in the fingers of his prosthetic.

He really wished he hadn’t stopped smoking as he walked up the street and found himself outside the coffee shop from earlier that morning. He thought he remembered the cute gallery guy’s order, and decided to do something nice to soothe his anger, and probably to spite his horrible coworkers.

* * *

 

Steve saw the light flash through his office door as he left a voicemail for a supply mix-up. This wasn’t the first time he had missed the chime that would signify a client, or maybe just the postman coming into the gallery. He stood up, pushing the purchase order papers to the center of his desk. He straightened the folded cuffs of his sleeves, and stepped out into the colorful gallery with a smile. “Good afternoon” had tumbled from his lips before he stopped where he was standing and his smile faded.

One of the guys from the construction crew was standing in paint-stained work-boots on his glossy concrete floor. Steve forced his eyes to travel upward. If he wanted someone to look him in the eye, and not at the scars on his chest, or at his hearing aid, maybe he should stop looking at the guy’s fitted jeans across powerful thighs. Or the rumpled plaid shirt. Or the gloved hands holding a drink carrier.

“Hi,” the honeyed voice brought Steve’s gaze to the full, pink lips he’d memorized just hours ago. He met the man’s gaze. The silvery blue from earlier appeared a more stormy gray under his lights and were framed by a luxurious fringe of eyelashes, topped with feathery brows.

.-.

“Hello.”

The deep voice shook Bucky, not exactly the timbre he was expecting to come through those peach lips. Bucky didn’t miss the furrowed brow or the open scrutiny, even if he was drawn to the man’s prominent collarbones which were begging to be licked.

Bucky shook himself mentally. “I brought coffee as an act of rebellion. I didn’t want you to think I had anything to do with their pranks.”

“You don’t have to pretend. I know you just figured out they were picking on a cripple.”

“What?”

“I know you figured out their scheme, and out of some misplaced sense of justice, decided to make up for your kind.”

“Man, you know nothing about me, and you’re a little infuriating. You just saw my clothes, assumed I was one of them, and started judging me. I wonder now, if they were bothering you because of your personality. Coffee’s still hot, if you’re interested. I don’t want to set it on any of your sculptures. You know, I’m not a Neanderthal.”

The quick flinch at the corner of those peachy-pink lips helped Bucky relax; he waited for the smug-faced gallery guy with the blue eyes and expressive eyebrows to either exile him from his business or hopefully take the coffee from his shaky hold.

.-.

Steve exhaled, and relaxed his shoulders, feeling like an ass. “You’re right. I shouldn’t judge. I’m sorry for lumping you in with them. It’s harassment, not just ‘pranks’, you know? Every time they see me, they pull something. Normally, I’d give ‘em what for, but I’ve been trying to keep the peace so I don’t lose my lease. Half of those thugs are related to the owner of this building. I hoped that just not giving them the satisfaction of a reaction would make it stop, but I can’t always tell when it’s coming. Come on back and I’ll try to make it up to you with civil conversation.”

Steve took the drink carrier from the man, almost missing the deliberate movement of the man’s left arm as he lowered it, appearing relieved to have it out of his grasp. Steve looked back once to see if he’d decided to follow.

.-.

Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from the slender lines of Steve’s back, his gaze followed the quaint, and very appealing suspenders down the middle of his trim body, right to the slight curve of a damned fine ass.

“Have a seat. I’m Steve, by the way.”

Bucky sat across from Steve’s desk, taking the coffee that was offered. “Thanks. You can call me Bucky.”

“So,” Steve sat in the very modern chair, casually leaning back with his coffee in one hand. “Thank you for the peace offering. It wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s just an offering between us. I didn’t come to apologize for them. They’re assholes.”

“I haven’t seen you here before. They didn’t wait long to introduce you to their adolescent hijinks.”

“They wouldn’t. I have worked with them before on other jobs. They’re a hateful bunch, but I finished early on the last job I was on, they needed an extra body, and I was filling in. It’s only temporary. I’m leaving to go to school, I just took the job because…” Did he dare say it? Here he was, sitting across from someone unapologetically “differently abled” as his sister liked to call it. “I needed to keep busy and earn some cash while participating in a VA study.”

“You were in the military?”

“Can’t tell huh?” Bucky wondered what he saw and heard in the question that seemed like _more_ than a question. “Damned near lost my mind, did lose my arm.”

“Oh.” Steve didn’t apologize, but the “sorry” couldn’t be missed in the single syllable. “I _wanted_ to go, but I’m 4F for more reasons than I’d care to list. I did do some design for the Army, but that doesn’t count for much.”

“Sure it does.” Bucky shifted in his seat, using the friction of his jeans and his knees to remove the glove from his right hand before removing the glove to expose his prosthetic. “So a guy sits in front of you - part of a guy that is - and says the military is why he’s only ‘part of a dude’ and you still lament not being able to go? You got a death wish, kid?”

“I’m no _kid_ . I’m pretty sure you’re not older than I am. If so, it’s not by much, and no, I don’t have a death wish, I’ve defied death quite enough already. I just – I thought I should fight. I’m pretty sure being down a limb doesn’t make you ‘part of’ a dude either. I can already tell you’re more man than any of _those idiots_.” Steve gestured toward the space across the way and the chaotic noise coming from that direction. “You’re a little less of an idiot anyway.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” Bucky was _this close_ to putting his feet up on the desk, but something about the way Steve looked at him, as though any second he’d do something do disappoint him, kept him in line.

“A guy called me Stevie once.” Steve sipped his coffee with purpose, Bucky didn’t miss the attempt at a cool, threatening glare.

“Once,” Bucky responded with his own challenging glare.

As intended, Steve caved and laughed first. “You’re less of an idiot than I previously thought. So, you’re going back to school, huh?”

“Yeah, graphic design. I’ve about had enough of hard labor; it really eats at my soul. I’d rather pursue something more _genteel_. Are you just an art snob? Or an artist? Or both?”

“I am an artist, not so much a snob – some of that stuff out there?” Steve jerked a thumb toward the gallery. “You could have set the coffee on it.”

“I’d rather not have to buy it. Honestly, I hope that none of those sculptures is yours. People buy those turds?”

.-.

“Don’t hold back, Buck.” Steve smirked, leaning forward in his chair. He liked that Bucky was talking to him and not at him. He really appreciated that he wasn’t slow-talking or – god forbid – loud-talking, and he wasn’t exaggerating his mouth movements. This was one time Steve appreciated the ability to read lips - even if it wasn’t necessary in the quiet of his office - he found himself relying on it anyway. And who could blame him, with those perfect lips? Bucky’s voice seemed to project slightly more than when he’d first come in, but it was at a level that Steve appreciated. It wasn’t that condescending scream that some people couldn’t resist falling into when they discovered that Steve couldn’t hear well.

“I’m not. Trust me. I can only point to one piece that I’d spend any time with, and it’s none of those pieces in the front. It’s that huge piece on the far wall. Saying again, I hope I’m not criticizing any of your art, man.”

“I only have one piece out there presently,” Steve said with a proud smile. He felt his breathing catch, historically, not often a feeling that meant anything good. Usually it was a warning sign, however, this time it was definitely caused by the compliment. “I’m getting ready for a showing for a pretty well received artist. As much as it pains me, I know the stuff will sell, and I know I’ll get a decent commission. I’m about to take that big piece down for the duration, actually.”

“Well, today’s my lucky day then. I might never have seen it.” Bucky wondered if he was really _this broken_. He wasn’t trying to flirt, and he was afraid he was coming off as some real tool, saying weird shit and complimenting the prettiest blond he’d ever met in the most backhanded way he could.

“Thanks.” A blush crept across Steve’s cheeks. “Maybe you can buy it for your wall at school.”

“Maybe you should keep it and try selling it to some mook with money.” Bucky set his coffee cup on the desk. “Speaking of money, I should probably get back to trying to make some. Wish me luck?”

“You’re gonna need more than luck working with those idiots. Thanks for the coffee, Bucky.”

Bucky felt as if he were dragging his feet as he hauled himself up from the chair. “You’re welcome. Don’t let those guys get under your skin. The project’s nearly done and they’ll be out of your hair before you know it. You could tell old man Pierce that they’re bothering your clients, if it keeps up.”

“Nah, not unless I actually have a disturbed client. Do me a favor? Don’t tell them why their bullshit bothers me, okay?”

“You mean the noise?”

“Specifically, because every time they do it and I react, I don’t hear it in the direction it’s coming from, so I end up looking like an idiot jumping and looking around. I should fucking know _exactly_ where it’s coming from by now, but they never strike the same way twice. They’re thoroughly entertained by me, so I’ve stopped reacting if I can.”

“Not to lump you in with all people with – help me out here, my friend Clint is good with the term ‘deafness’ – and not to sound like _that guy_ but I _do_ have a deaf friend, and I kind of understand the brain games that sounds, or missing sounds, can play with you.”

“It’s deafness. Yeah, call it that, I am _not impaired_. Your friend, does he use ASL? Do you know it?”

Bucky’s mouth quirked up at the question. “Yes to both. You? I mean, you hear well enough right?” The fight in this guy was unreal; he wondered if someone would embrace ASL even though they could hear, after that “not impaired” proclamation, which grabbed Bucky by the gut. He should definitely hang around this guy more often. He could use a little more of that attitude in his life.

“I have deafness in the _good ear too_. Growing up, I worried that I might lose all hearing in this ear too. I had a lot of health problems,” Steve shrugged. “I wanted to get ahead of any challenges I could, so I learned. I keep up on it by teaching.”

“Cool. Yeah, I learned alongside my friend when his hearing was FUBARed in the same explosion that cost me my arm. One handed ASL… it might be ugly, and I hope I don’t offend you at any point. I told Clint I want on the list for the singing hand.”

“I wouldn’t be offended. It’s like you said, I can hear you just fine, I just asked because I might want to BS with you through the windows.”

“Talk shit about the idiots?” When Bucky laughed, Steve thought his giggle was too much, how could this guy, this overwhelmingly beautiful guy, be real? “Please do! It’ll help the day go by faster. Thanks for the laugh, Steve.”

“It’s the least I could do for the coffee.” Steve followed Bucky to the door, smiling wider than he had for possibly weeks. “Thanks again.”

Bucky turned around and grinned at Steve. “You're welcome, Stevie.”

Steve watched the guy with the rumpled flannel shirt, impossibly snug jeans, and paint splattered work boots head across the foyer to the office under construction. He was impressed that Bucky remembered to turn around and look at him to say that last bit. He wondered if there was any real flirting going on, and if he’d gone overboard one way or another. He’d hate to alienate a nice guy like Bucky by being too forward or too prickly.

Before he had the chance to turn away, Steve recognized a regular client approaching, so he continued holding the door, looking again across the foyer before greeting the woman warmly.

* * *

 

Bucky suffered through the inane jokes and taunts from his coworkers until the yokels broke for lunch. He had seen Steve talking animatedly with a tall, brunette for almost an hour, not that he was keeping track. He couldn’t help but think he’d blown it somehow, he felt so awkward with his inability to flirt. Clint was always telling him it was in his head, and that he just needed to forget about the missing arm. “Look at me man, bright purple hearing aids. I’m deaf and I still got game.”

“You’re a disaster. Women love that though, they love to fix a dude up. I’m queer and I’m missing about 5% of my body!”

“Ain’t no fixin’ me, Buckaroo.”

“They don’t know that,” Bucky would always reply.

He continued measuring and marking the lumber, watching the crew as they dropped their gear, mindless of the value of some of the items they were tossing about. He’d never met a less professional bunch.

Bucky pulled his lunch bag out and headed for the back stairs, where he sat to quietly enjoy his lunch. Well, he tried anyway; He couldn’t help it if a blond artist captivated his thoughts. He wondered what it would be like to kiss those peachy lips. Would the man with the deceptively deep voice have lips that tasted like peaches? or honeyed whiskey?

Suddenly, the sandwich he’d made that morning was less interesting, the chips less appealing. He wanted to know what kisses tasted like, not a really killer meatloaf sandwich and fresh kettle cooked chips. He knew how those would taste. It was the lips, the plump bottom lip that softened an angular face that was the distraction.

Bucky put the rest of his sandwich back into his lunch bag, and took out his phone:

          “Fuck me Barton-tell me how to talk to this guy”

          “I won’t fuck you _and_ hook you up. Perv.”

          “u know what I mean”

          “talk. To. Him.”

          “tried that. Not. Cool.”

          “Oh My God ur not a fuckin virgin”

          “thanks for ALL THE HELP”

          “DAMN ur serious. U just be u man”

          “I told u that didn’t work”

Bucky stuffed his phone back in his pocket, his lips pursed, twitching from the right to the left and back as he considered his options and gathered his things to go back inside.

* * *

Steve hadn’t looked across the building since morning. He managed to get some phone calls and paperwork done with few distracting thoughts of Bucky and his pretty eyes, with straight eyelashes that appeared frosted, and rosebud lips. Who the hell referred to a man’s lips as rosebuds? Steve did, because those damned pink-to-red lips were perfectly formed. Okay, there _were several_ distracting thoughts and more than a dozen doodles. In spite of all of that, he still got a few things accomplished. That itself was worth celebrating.

An artist he’d be showcasing in a month came by for a quick look at the space, and as he escorted him to the door, Steve saw what appeared to be the crew facing Bucky down. It wasn’t a physical altercation, but from the pained look on Bucky’s face, Steve could tell they might be harassing him, “teasing” him about something.

Bucky looked between two of the men, and Steve waved, smiling, hoping the dopey look translated in some way as camaraderie. He signed an invitation to dinner – tonight. Bucky’s raised brow was confusing to Steve, it didn’t look like he misunderstood, or was for or against the invitation. Was Bucky trying to telegraph something? Steve almost backed out with some kind of “ _I mean…_ ” excuse or alternate date. When he saw the subtle ‘yes’ sign, he was glad he didn’t give in to embarrassed panic, and retract his invitation prematurely.

He signed for Bucky to come over when his shift ended. He received a curt nod in response, which had him wondering what was going on, and whether or not he should be worried as he returned to his office to try to focus on writing up a proposal for a future installation.

Bucky was caught in a vacuum, one of the noises that hadn’t been intended to traumatize Steve, and had been a legitimate accident, had set him off. His mind raced; back to the truck and the explosion, back to his friends screaming and dying. To his arm, both numb and searing pain all at once, and Clint screaming to “make it stop!”.

He froze as voices hurled at him, “Barnes. Snap out of it.” “What the fuck Barnes?” he couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t speak, and Barton wasn’t nearby to translate his makeshift sign. He knew all of this, with the thoughts swirling in his head, but the words were trapped. He looked frantically for the marking pencil – maybe he could write something down – and saw Steve, smiling and waving, signing. God bless that pretty artist. A dinner invitation sunk in, and his weak sign for “yes” rewarded him with more communication, an invitation to come over… when his shift ended. Bucky forced air into his lungs and back out. He focused on the slender man with the head of sunny blond hair until he walked away. “No” Bucky signed. But Steve was gone from his sight, missing the subtle plea.

Bucky managed to walk past the men who were still cursing him, using homophobic and mental illness slurs. ‘Short list, job is ending soon, what they say means nothing’ he reminded himself as he fixated on the door across the foyer.

Steve looked up at the shadow in his peripheral vision and saw Bucky standing in the doorway to his office. He’d missed the chime and flashing light that should have told him someone had entered the gallery. He had to admit he was engrossed in the language of his current proposal, and that the new alert system couldn’t get there soon enough.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He found he really had to focus on the style of Bucky’s one-handed sign, asking him to “sign please”, and “could he please sit down?”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Steve signed. “Are you okay?”

Being an ASL teacher, Steve was used to variations, and learning curves, so he was able to adapt quickly to Bucky’s unique signing and determined that Bucky was having a nonverbal break.

“I’m having a hard time with your sign; if I’m slow to respond, please don’t be upset. Also, tell me if I’m going too fast.”

“You’re fine,” and “don’t let me interrupt. I appreciate the quiet space.”

“Bucky, of course. If you’re not up for dinner…”

“No I want. I just need…” Bucky paused, breathing deeply and willing the sting of tears away. He dropped his hand into his lap.

“I don’t need any explanations. I’m going to go close up, and I have a few minutes left on this proposal, if that’s okay.”

Steve left Bucky alone in the office as he cut the lights in the gallery and locked the door. He returned to his office to see Bucky sitting with his head in his hand. His face appeared tense and pale. Steve felt compelled to put a firm hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeeze reassuringly.

Bucky felt the strength in Steve’s long fingers and really, really appreciated his quick acquiescence to the ASL request, cutting out all noises even further by locking the gallery, and the dimmed lights helped too. He didn’t know if Steve knew how to manage PTSD flashes, but he was pretty damned intuitive.

Bucky reached up and covered Steve’s fingers with his trembling hand. “Thank you,” he said aloud, after Steve had let his hand slide free and moved back to his desk.

Steve didn’t take Bucky’s spoken words as a license to break the silence further, instead signing, “I hope they didn’t do that to you intentionally. Is there anything else I can do?”

“No,” Bucky spoke again after an extended silence, his voice was shaky and hesitant. “It was an accident. I’m fine… I mean, I don’t need anything. You can talk now, you know.”

Steve smiled at the attempted humor in Bucky’s tone. “Wasn’t sure. I’d rather defer to you on that. Are you sure dinner tonight is a good idea? I honestly didn’t just mean it as a diversionary tactic, I’d like to do dinner with you, some time.”

“Hey, I gotta eat, right? Besides, it’s your fault I couldn't eat lunch.” Bucky was starting to feel a little more real, even if he still felt like his center of gravity was pulling him beyond the chair and to the floor.

“My fault? I haven’t seen you since coffee.” Steve was pretty sure he was being teased, he couldn’t dismiss the little quirk of the side of Bucky’s lips as he drawled “besides” so he smiled.

“I spent most of lunchtime thinking about our conversation over coffee,” Bucky said truthfully. He wasn’t about to admit that he was obsessing over what an idiot he was at flirting.

“Which part? Discussing my disability or yours?” Steve asked with a sideways smirk. He shoved the hair from his eyes, causing Bucky to recall how he’d really liked that gesture.

“Neither, both, I just enjoyed your company.” Bucky was surprised at how easy he found it to talk to Steve, and smile, especially so soon after a break.

Steve greeted Bucky’s smile with one of his own. “Good, that’ll make dinner that much more palatable.”

“I should go home and clean up first, unless you’re planning on a hotdog cart. I’ll just call my roommate and see if he can come and get me.”

“Or if you’re okay with it? I could take you home, and then pick you up. Unless you prefer to meet at the restaurant.”

“I don’t want to be any more trouble than I’ve already been.”

“Honestly, Bucky, it’s no trouble.” Steve stood up from the desk chair and went to the corner of his office. He picked up a helmet. “You ever ride a motorcycle?”

“All the time. I mean before.” Bucky shrugged his left shoulder. “I hope to solo again soon.”

“Until then, you mind?” Steve handed the helmet to Bucky, pausing before asking. “You ready for this?”

Ordinarily, Bucky would resent the kid gloves approach, but he found that he appreciated the careful questions. “Okay, yeah.”

“If you need a minute, or if we have to stop…”

“Steve, thank you. I’m good. I would like a nice hot shower, and I’m getting hungry.” He followed Steve out of the gallery, waiting while Steve locked up. They walked together to the parking garage up the road, Bucky’s bag slung over his shoulders as he held the helmet in his fingers. When they stopped in front of the low-slung Harley Davidson, Bucky was impressed. For some reason he’d entertained the notion of a short bullet bike, or in some strange fantasy, he’d imagined holding back a laugh at a Vespa. The black denim coated Softail Slim was beautiful. Steve pulled his own helmet from the bike and mounted gracefully, before looking at Bucky expectantly. “You’re sure, right? I don’t want to rush you.”

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, just admiring your bike.” He climbed behind Steve, giving his address before Steve started the motor. After the bike roared to life, he tapped Steve on the shoulder, and signed, “let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve looked at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom. “What am I doing?” His reflection didn’t answer, of course. “Why did I think I could ask someone like Bucky out? What is he going to think when I can’t hold up my end of the conversation?”

His reflection was no help. He put some product in his hair with hopes that it would keep the errant locks in place. “I really need to make time for a haircut.”

His reflection wasn’t interested in that either. Steve straightened the V-neck t-shirt, pulling the V up so that his scar wasn’t showing. Still on the verge of cancelling, he picked up his phone and made a call.

“Steve!” his friend, Sam, answered with what Steve knew was his infectious smile.

“Hey Sam. Help. I need help.”

“That’s the desperate sound of someone about to make a life-changing choice. What’s up man?”

“I made a date with this guy – completely out of my league – and I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“A date. Wait, you asked someone out on a date?”

“Hilarious. Yes. I met him this morning. He’s beautiful, I’m talking better looking than Lucian.”

“Lucian? Oh… Lucian, you remember what happened with Lucian? You chickened out. Don’t compare him to that life model from your art class, or it’s doomed before it starts. Lucian…”

Steve was sure he could _hear_ Sam shaking his head. “That’s why I need your help. I asked _him out_ and he said yes. But I think I’m taking advantage of a situation.”

“That sounds… ominous, and out of character. What situation?”

“I wasn’t aware when I asked, or when he said yes, but he was in the middle of some kind of break, PTSD. It’s a long story, but…”

“Wait, wait… no. You can’t tell me you made a date with a guy while he was compromised, and then wash it away with ‘long story but’, you gotta tell me the story, and I’ll help you sort it out.”

Steve explained the afternoon, and listened to some “uh huh, okay, okay,” stuff as Sam contemplated the matter. He waited for the all clear to call and cancel, after all, that was why he called Sam, right? Cooler heads, and all that.

“He clearly said it was okay? Even after you gave him several outs? I think you should definitely _not_ cancel on him.”

“Oh…kaaay…” Steve drawled, not what he expected, but his heart did flutter a little – a healthy, lonely, don’t-make-me-eat-alone flutter – “I guess I shouldn’t cancel then.”

“That’s what I said, you should definitely not cancel. Are you meeting him? Picking him up? Or is _he picking you up_?”

“I’m picking him up... in the car.”

“Oooh _the car_ , nice touch. Where are you going?”

“I thought the new place would be nice. It’s casual and I’ve heard good things. I know, I should go somewhere I’ve been before.”

“Yeah, why do you call me and then talk to yourself?” Sam asked, exasperated but entertained.

“Because I was freaking out, talking to myself, and having nobody answer,” Steve said in a rush.

“Go to the new place. It’s very neutral if neither of you have been there, and neutral is good, Steve.”

“You think it’s okay then? That he’s not just saying he’ll go?”

“If he hasn’t contacted you yet, asking for a raincheck, you’re fine. Like I said, he already answered you more than once that he was sure dinner tonight would be okay. You know, next time I might not answer the phone. Not if you’re not going to pay attention.”

“I’m sorry. Thank you, Sam. I’m not this person.”

“I know. You’re not a dating person at all, I’m really surprised you’re going out and this wasn’t an elaborate setup, where you were dragged to the restaurant and abandoned there as soon as the mark arrived.”

“Hey, just because that’s how you and Natasha prefer to get me out, doesn’t mean it works for me. That’s torment at the very least.”

“Call it motivation. Look, it worked. You made your own date.”

“If you tell her about this… I swear to God, Sam.”

Sam laughed, a joyful belly laugh, before telling Steve, “go, finish getting ready for your damned date. You still have to pick him up. You’ve got this. You’re an accomplished artist, a gallery owner with a sweet ride, and I’ve heard you're adorable.”

“You’ve heard,” Steve said flatly. “Thanks, Sam.”

* * *

 

“Hey, Bucks! Does your boyfriend drive a yellow Porsche?”

“What? He’s _not_ my boyfriend, asshole,” Bucky said as he adjusted the prosthetic rig. He was unable to visualize Steve driving a yellow sports car. It seemed so douchey. “God, I hope not.”

Regardless, Bucky hurried to get his shirt on. “Help me with this stupid thing.” He stuck his watch out in Clint’s face.

“Kiddin’, man,” Clint laughed, taking the watch and fastening it to Bucky’s wrist. “There is a nice dark Jag out there though. You ought to go down so he doesn’t leave the car, or get his head bashed in or somethin’.”

Bucky couldn't imagine that scenario actually happening, but he was getting nervous about the whole thing. “I swear to God, Barton, you tease me any more about him being early and I’ll hide your goddamned hearing aids, and refuse to sign.”

“Cute, skinny, blond kid?”

“He’s not a kid,” Bucky deflected, as a blush overtook him. “Fuck Barton, does this look all right? Fuck, I’m not ready. I can’t be seen in a Jag of all things! I’m such trash.”

“Bucky – Buckaroo, you know me, right? I might _be_ trash, but I surround myself with only quality. I don’t hang out with trash. It doesn’t help my image.”

“In other words, you’re full of it, and I’m leaving.” Bucky grabbed Clint’s leather jacket. “Borrowing this too.”

“Well, since I fucked yours up, it’s the least I can do.” Clint laughed as Bucky flipped him off as his hand cleared the sleeve. His laughter followed Bucky out the door.

Bucky ran into Steve on the stairs. “Hey, I…” Steve faltered, looking Bucky over, impressed with the way the red scarf, and leather jacket layered over a dark blue shirt framed Bucky’s face.

“Hi, Steve,” Bucky smiled. “I was hurrying down, you don’t want to leave that Jag alone too long in this neighborhood. I mean if you really drive a Jag. Clint could have been messing with me.”

“I do, actually.” Steve fell into step with Bucky, keeping him on the side of his good ear. “You look great.”

“Thank you.” Bucky lifted his head. “I probably should have said something about – man, I’m a real mess.” Bucky forced a laugh. “Too busy fixating on your material belongings.”

Steve smiled, recognizing the signs of nervousness, and feeling a little more relaxed himself because of them.

“There’s something about your smile that gets me every time, Steve,” Bucky said, overwhelmed by the way the smile softened the angular lines of Steve’s face.

“Way to make up for it, Buck.” Steve pushed tortoiseshell frames up on his nose, blushing hot and red.

“Glasses? I like ‘em,” Bucky continued with an earnest smile.

“Thanks, it was a necessity. Contacts were giving me trouble at the last minute. Allergies, I guess.”

Bucky followed Steve out of the building into the cool evening air and Bucky whistled long and low when he saw the Jaguar waiting in front of his building. “Clint _wasn’t_ shittin’ me.”

Steve felt awkward and empowered at the same time, opening the door for Bucky. “Your roommate sounds very entertaining, if you think everything’s a prank.”

“He’s a good guy. Bigger train wreck than me, but he’s a keeper.” Bucky watched Steve close the door and walk around the car. He looked so good in those skinny jeans that met tan suede ankle boots, and a thin V-neck shirt beneath a buttery-smooth looking tan leather jacket; and everything fit his thin frame so well. ‘He must have a tailor’, Bucky mused, increasingly aware that he was probably getting in over his head.

“I thought we could go to this new place, I hope you don’t mind,” Steve said after settling into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t mind. Anything goes.”

“Just so you know, this is the bad ear.” Steve pointed to his right ear.

“You mean the one without the hearing aid?”

“Can’t correct what’s not there,” Steve smirked.

“Never would have guessed. I guess car conversation might be tricky. Just so you know, this one’s the fake hand.” Bucky lifted the hand of his prosthetic, causing Steve to laugh.

“At least it’s just a short ride, I’ll have to wait ‘til we get out before I try to hold your hand.”

Bucky liked Steve’s laugh, a lot, and his sense of humor was enjoyable. He would have to wait and see if he was teasing about handholding, because honestly, that was the bait Bucky had thrown out there.

Steve smiled and started the car. The short drive was quiet with the exception of music playing quietly. This was the part he hated, driving, and not being able to have a conversation. He seemed to be going out of his way to do everything he would ordinarily not do. He wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

Bucky listened to the music, watching Steve as he shifted gears, and steered the car. He was fixated on Steve’s long, slender fingers, not exactly disproportionate to his stature, just longer, and more elegant than he’d originally expected. He remembered the strength in the hand that had gripped his shoulder and grounded him. If he was this distracted now, Bucky couldn’t imagine being one of Steve’s ASL students.

Steve pulled up to the valet and as he turned the car off, he turned to Bucky with a smile. “You’re still there.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” Bucky joked. “So, you must have done your starving artist routine early to have a car like this. It’s an amazing car.”

“It’s temporary. I inherited it from a great-aunt. I’d rather sell it and have the money for things like groceries and an occasional fancy dinner. I just thought I could have a little fun while it’s mine.”

Steve handed the keys over to the valet, and Bucky got out of the car, stepping up to the curb. Steve joined Bucky on the sidewalk. “It’s probably a good idea you show it off occasionally and it keeps it in good working order. You ever open ‘er up?”

“Nah,” Steve said, leading Bucky toward the entrance. “I’ve thought about it. I know someone who has a private racing track membership, I just need to make the time before I get a buyer.”

“Really? You’d want to do that, huh?”

“Me? You mean skinny old, deaf me?”

Bucky stopped in front of the restaurant door, blocking the entrance. “I mean quiet, artistic you. Really you _are_ defensive.”

“Not always. Okay, most of the time.” Steve chuckled as he pulled the door open, careful not to run Bucky over with it. “Sorry, it’s been worse since your coworkers came around.”

“They’re not _my_ anything.” Bucky shook his head, stepping through the door and waiting for Steve to face him again before continuing. “If tonight goes well, and I don’t put my foot in it, can I beg an invitation to the test track?”

“You can not only come along, you can run her through her courses.” Steve stopped, almost physically tripping as he tripped on his words. “I mean…”

“You want to mount a steering ball on that thing? I’ll drive the shit out of her.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, looking at him intently. “Listen, you can mention the arm, if you stop assuming everything I say has anything to do with your hearing or your size. Do _not_ think I’m anything but attracted to everything about you.”

“A steering ball, huh?” Steve tried to keep the blush at bay, hoping the lighting would help obscure it. He wanted to address the compliments, but feared it would be seen as fishing. He was no good at this. “I think I could do that, if you really want to take a lap.”

Bucky hesitated, wondering if he was having trouble with his own hearing. Nothing Steve just said sounded like ‘you’re a complete idiot saying all of that stuff before the date even starts’. They both remained quiet as they were seated.

The restaurant was very modern and Bucky was impressed by the mix of urban and rustic. He bit his lip and watched everything around him as they were seated by the wall of glass that housed a fireplace. Steve was polite to the host, thanking them and smiling. Bucky couldn’t say he was as polite, between his awe of the architecture, the way his date looked when he smiled, and the warmth of the fireplace, he rather forgot that he should also thank the host.

“Damn,” Bucky swore.

“What?” Steve asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh.” Shit, did he say that aloud? Bucky blushed. “Um, I was kind of preoccupied and didn’t acknowledge the host.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve shrugged, smiling. “So, we have our mutual agreement regarding our physicality. What’s the rule on personal information?”

“You already know where I live and where I work and that I kinda break down sometimes to where I can’t use words. What’s left? I’d say nothing’s off the table. Do you have a pressing question for me, Stevie?”

“No, I mean, I did tell you how I’m an easy target for jackasses. I think that’s at least comparable in the realm of deeply personal information, to your… um… are medical terms appropriate? Or should I keep with the smartass themes?”

“Ha ha,” Bucky fake laughed, before smiling with the most endearing nose crinkle Steve had ever seen. “PTSD, yes. You may ask about the military, and you may say ‘PeeTeeEssDee’.”

Steve really liked Bucky’s grin, and his perceived openness. “Okay then. I’ll give you one more, because there’s no way being a kicked puppy is anything like PTSD and I never should have compared the two. If you see me do this.” Steve tugged up on the V of his shirt, then pulled it down a couple of inches. “It’s to hide this.”

“Oh, man, seriously?” Bucky’s eyes widened. Steve expected sympathy and pity instantly. “You were struck by _lightning_?”

His tone was so earnest, Steve took a moment to pull the neckline back up, but didn’t fixate on it’s appropriate position, and he laughed. He was still in the throes of laughter when the server came by for their drink orders.

This time around, Bucky was much more attentive to the server, politely smiling and borderline flirting as he thanked her. Why couldn’t he flirt like that with Steve? He sure hoped his interpersonal skills didn’t kill the night. He started to worry about his lightning comment. Would Steve think he was an idiot?

“No, not lightning,” Steve said quietly as the server stepped away. “Open heart surgery a few years back.”

“That’s just not as cool.” Bucky shook his head. “We’ll have to find an electrical storm and rectify that.”

“I’ll pass,” Steve laughed. “The ticker is actually working now, I wouldn’t want to screw with that.”

“Okay, fine,” Bucky conceded. “If you insist.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve rolled his eyes comically. “So, where did you serve?”

“Hell,” Bucky quipped. “Several levels of it, mostly Afghanistan. I did a little time in the psych ward too. Of course, that was a different level of hell. What about you? I see your cute little med tag, is that for the ticker?”

“No, it’s for asthma and allergies. The scar should alert them to the ticker.” Steve smiled softly, blinking slowly, and was that one eye just a little slower? Bucky thought he might be falling in love. “Yeah, that too. I really won the lottery.”

“How so?”

“Birth defects, followed by complications from medical intervention, drug side effects, you know, nothing serious.”

“You were blessed with a stubborn streak and a sense of humor, and you survived to adulthood. I’d say that’s winning the lottery. Nothing serious, huh?”

“Well.” Steve fumbled with his flatware, a nervous _something_ to do with his hands, before they started flying off and signing everything. “Yeah, I spent a lot of time in the hospital, that’s where I learned a lot about art. At least I can say I got something for my troubles.”

“You have an amazing attitude,” Bucky said, thinking about how he’d melted down as much over his injury as he had over the terror that had caused it, maybe more, if he were to be fair. “It takes a strong person to face down something like that.”

“Says the guy who survived combat.”

“Multiple combat scenarios. Actually, the one I didn’t think I’d survive was an IED. It’s cliché, really, we had our guard down, in comparison I guess, since your guard’s never really _down_ , but we were laughing, teasing each other, then we were screaming.” Bucky scratched the back of his neck absently. “Or dead.”

Steve noticed Bucky’s ring, when he brought his hand back to his water glass. “Your ring, Celtic knots? For protection?”

“It’s a shield knot.” Bucky waved his hand after inspecting the ring briefly. “' _Impenetrable’_  . Or something. It was a gift from my sister – sort of a ‘you’re going to get through this’ thing. She was right. I’m getting through it. I have my moments, as you saw earlier. You know a lot about a lot of things. More downtime activities?”

“As a sick kid, I did a lot of reading.” Steve shrugged. “Now too, I guess. Yeah, as an artist I studied Celtic art among others, but it’s also my heritage. I have a similar knot as a tattoo.”

“Yeah? I’m thinking about getting some ink, mostly covering some scars.” Bucky tried not to fixate on where this Celtic shield knot might be on Steve’s body, or the fact that they had that little thing in common.

“I’d thought about doing something like that, but I don’t know if I want to go big.” He gestured the expanse of his chest, such as it was.

“Do a zipper. I mean they do call it a zipper scar anyway,” Bucky said. “Some real 3-D lookin’ zipper thing with a fancy pull, and your knot design can be on the zipper pull. I know not such a unique idea, but I think it would be cool anyway.”

Steve watched Bucky talk, this was one time when he was incredibly glad he read lips, watching those pink lips move and the way he ended the sentence and they turned up in a curvy smile. “That’s not a terrible idea,” Steve conceded.

“I have one good idea every four years. You can have that one. I’ll wait four more for the next one.”

“Like the Olympics and elections.”

“Oh, and leap day. Which is today by the way. So, it looks like I’m right on schedule.” Bucky smiled over the rim of his cocktail that had been delivered as they talked before taking a decent sized drink. “I guess I should look at the menu.”

“I guess. Me too.” Steve chuckled.

Bucky had no problem admitting he’d been too distracted by Steve’s red star earrings glistening in the light to pay any attention to a menu. When Steve had arrived at his place, he’d been wearing his jacket, so the wrap bracelets going up one arm had been hidden. This cutie knew how to dress and how to accessorize. When did Bucky learn the term ‘accessorize’? Bucky forced himself to look at the menu, the food items, not just the design. Although, as a fledgling graphic designer, that was definitely something of a work of art, too. “I think the tri-tip sounds good,” Bucky finally said. He watched as Steve pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, before taking his glasses off to look closer at the menu. Such a disarming move, and it made Bucky smile.

Steve looked up and saw a fuzzy version of Bucky across the table. He realized his nearsighted faux pas. He felt color flood his cheeks and overflow to the tips of his ears. Of course, after that, he couldn’t just put the specs back on gracefully, he had to fumble them, having to turn them right side up. Steve closed his eyes, regulating his breathing as he felt the irritation in his throat and his airway restricting.

“Steve?” Bucky put his hand on top of Steve’s to get his attention. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, reaching into his coat with his free hand. He pulled out his inhaler, the embarrassment magnifying, this was so much worse than just being embarrassed of being blind and uncoordinated. After successfully treating his attack before it could escalate, he looked up at Bucky. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.”

“I don’t know.” Bucky shook his head. “You can’t beat an inconvenient mute. You're sure you’re good?”

“Yeah. It’s so stupid.” Steve shook his head. “I’m trying to be interesting, and I’m just the sum of my disabilities and ailments. I can’t see, so I look ridiculous reading a menu, which embarrasses me, so my anxiety speeds on in, threatening an asthma attack. All of this within minutes of the start of our first date.”

“Well, I got you beat.” Bucky crinkled his nose. “I shut down in your office, before you even asked me out, so I think we’re the perfect level of FUBARed.”

“Okay, I can work with that,” Steve offered a shaky smile. “So, does that mean I haven’t blown a chance at a second date?”

“For having a medical condition and gracefully handling it? Shit, yeah, a second date. If you don’t mind something a little less posh, I’ll even treat.”

“To be honest, I could have gone for a burger and a shake, I was trying to make an impression.” Steve confessed, fiddling with his flatware and making self-deprecating faces in an attempt at levity. “I’m not good at this.”

“I _am_ impressed and you’ve been amazing. Also, if you’re overextending yourself, I’ll be mad.”

“No, I’m not, no,” Steve stammered. “I’m… wow, anything I say is going to sound narcissistic.”

“No, go on,” Bucky encouraged, their server was approaching from behind Steve, he signed a little warning. “I mean, after we order.”

Bucky listened to Steve as he had to be particular in ordering, smiling as he did a little calculation to determine which might be allergies, versus taste preferences. He smiled sweetly at the server before ordering his, making it brief and simple, with the exception of asking for the meat to be cut.

“It’s quite a show if I do it myself,” Bucky winked at Steve after the server left with their order. “Maybe sometime I’ll grace you with my performance. I’d prefer it to happen in private though. Too many eyes getting all excited about the robot arm, you know?”

“Humor as a coping mechanism? For you? Or to put others at ease?” Steve couldn’t believe he’d just called Bucky out like that, he really wasn’t good at this.

“You’re secretly rich and trying to be modest about it?” Bucky countered.

“It’s not a secret, really. I’m not _rich_ either. I’ve been lucky to be out of the ‘starving artist’ club for a couple of years. I have this little comic that brings me some income. The gallery is almost to the point where I can stop worrying 24/7 about losing my business. As long as I don’t lose my lease, or Pierce doesn’t decide to jack rent on it up too much when it’s time to renew. I’ll still worry 24/7, but it’s nice to have that distinction.”

“A comic huh? Anything I might know?” Bucky asked eagerly.

“I don’t know. Are you into comics? Or are you just a casual pop culturalist?”

“Come on, don’t I _look_ like I might be a huge nerd?” Bucky asked, holding up his sugar skull Darth Vader phone case.

“Have you heard of _Warriors and Assassins_?”

“Holy shit! You write _Warriors and Assassins_?”

“I co-write it with my friend Natasha. I’m the artist, she’s the magic.”

“This is amazing. It’s my favorite. I swear, the latest storyline... Okay, you’re _not_ on a date to hear people tell you about your comic. I do love it though, God’s honest truth. It’s on my phone.” Bucky’s ear-to-ear grin might be embarrassing to him, but what he didn’t realize was that it was warming Steve’s insides. He rarely told a date what he did beyond the gallery and some of his big art pieces, because they always had negative reactions. He was used to getting fan reactions from people but never from the people that he was interested in dating.

“How about this? Next time we go out, we can talk more about it. This time, tell me more about you. You said you were leaving to go to school, where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry, that… I meant I was leaving the construction crew. I’m starting school here in the city. A week after that, I start a new job with advancement possibilities, once I learn a few things. I hope. Construction just got the rent paid and the cost of school that subsidies won’t cover, while I applied for jobs I was underqualified for, and acted as a test dummy for the VA.”

“Do you have practical graphic design experience and do you have any extra hours where you could intern at the gallery? It’ll be good for your resume and take a load off my plate going into the next several showings.”

“Seriously? As far as you know, I’m crap. ‘My thing’ could be all _Comic Sans and Centered Text_.”

“You know what to call crap. You’re qualified,” Steve laughed. “Think about it. No pressure.”

“I’m thinking about it.” Bucky smiled. “Back to your earlier question, when I was a dick and didn’t answer, yes. Self-preservation via humor, or any attempt at humor. I’ve been on dates before, and it’s painfully obvious that I have this--” he lifted his prosthetic, “--suffice it to say, I really must feel at ease with you, because the last time I ordered steak of any kind in a restaurant, I was horribly rebuked, called high maintenance, and the guy still expected me to put out. So, any time I do something for myself, I make a joke, so people can laugh with me, instead of at me.”

“I’ve been called fussy, finicky – oh, I hate the word finicky, and the cat connotations, shit – please, for the love of god, never use any cat references on me. Nobody understands, my food allergies piss me off. What I wouldn’t do to be able to order straight off the menu, I certainly don’t do it to inconvenience anybody else.”

“Yeah, I hear ya. I guessed, since you mentioned allergies, maybe some foods would make the cut. You did say you won the lottery.”

Steve nodded, catching more of what Bucky said through his intermittent signs and reading his lips. The restaurant was getting louder and the ambient noise was an increasing buzz as the restaurant got busier. “So, are you a native New Yorker?” Steve found himself raising his voice. When he couldn’t exactly make out Bucky’s answer, he apologized. “It’s getting hard to differentiate sounds, I am trying to keep up. Bucky, I’m so sorry.”

Bucky resorted to backing up his projected words with more consistent sign. “It’s okay. Pretty soon, we’ll be stuffing our faces.”

Jesus, Steve was gone over this guy. “Maybe after we stuff our faces, we can walk somewhere quiet, if you don’t mind,” Steve signed, increasingly self-conscious about shouting in the vicinity of other diners.

“I like that idea. How about I save all my ‘talking about me’ for that, meanwhile you tell me about you, or the gallery, or what’s coming up in _Assassins_?”

Steve managed to piece together the suggestion and smiled “I’ll take it. As for ‘ _Assassins_ ’, that’s a third date. I’ll invite you to the studio and give you a peek at the next issue. Third date, Barnes.”

“You asking already? I guess we did say there’d probably be a second. I could string you along for a third. _For ‘Assassins’_.”

Steve laughed, feeling so much more at ease. How did he get lucky enough to have this guy dropped in his path? A guy he could easily spend time with, who could communicate with him, even when communication got difficult. “Thank you,” Steve signed as he spoke. “I appreciate your honesty. About me? I don’t get to do this often. I hate the idea of monopolizing the conversation, and please tell me if I go too fast, or if I get too loud when I speak.”

“You’re fine.” Bucky smiled, shaking his head slightly at just how cute this guy was. “Carry on. My turn will come.”

“Okay, basics: I grew up in my unit, which I inherited when my mom passed away five years ago. I’ve traveled all around the world. Since my surgery, I decided I wasn’t going to let anything else hold me back. I’ve lived on the sidelines for too long. I can’t pick a favorite destination, but I painted or drew something from every village and city. My favorite _part_ has to be the people. I loved being invited into their lives. Their faces,” Steve sighed. “Every face, was real and beautiful. Even more beautiful were their hands. The mothers’ hands as they held their babies, or cooked, painted, and sewed. The fathers’ hands while working, building, hunting, drawing, or cooking. Old hands with lines that were like road maps of their lives, and young hands, chubby with dimples where knuckles belong. People miss out on the most important thing. Every single hand belongs to a person, and every single hand is exactly the same and vastly different when compared to the next.”

“They’re excellent for communicating,” Bucky added as their meals were served. “And eating.”

Dinner was light on conversation, but it was comfortable for them both. Bucky watched Steve’s hands as he ate his meal. He wondered about the discussion of hands. Was it some kind of message? When the worry about it was enough to choke him, Bucky set his fork down and took a drink.

Steve slowly realized he’d been rambling about the beauty of hands, and worried that he’d said something wrong. He watched as Bucky set his empty glass on the table, curious about what he might be thinking. Even though he ordinarily wouldn’t ask, he found himself speaking. “Penny for your thoughts.”

“They’re worth at _least_ a dime,” Bucky teased. “I was thinking about what you said about traveling. Your takeaway is people’s hands. I’m afraid I’m shortchanging you.”

“How?”

“One hand.” Bucky shrugged, raising his brows ad pursing his lips.

“Be serious.” Steve wanted to laugh, but knew this could be much deeper than the joke. “Hey, I didn’t want to look like a jerk here, but is it okay if we skip dessert? Here I mean. I really want to have a two-sided conversation and I know a quieter place where we can get something sweet.”

“That’s a great idea.” There it is, Bucky thought, you’ve gone too far Barnes.

Bucky waited as Steve signaled for and settled the check, he followed him out of the restaurant, almost too distracted to appreciate the view in front of him. Almost. It was a nice ass.

Outside, as soon as the door closed, Steve breathed a deep sigh. The street was quieter than the restaurant and he knew somewhere nearby that was even less noise-riddled. He looked at Bucky and smiled. “You know, I might actually be able to make out just _your_ voice now. Inside, everything else just drowned you out. That’s just a travesty, Buck, not being able to hear your voice.”

That was the most amazing thing Bucky had ever heard. He fell into step alongside Steve, keeping to his good ear. “I’m trying to think of something to say in response that isn’t a joke. That’s… wow. I thought maybe I blew it in there. Thought my humor-as-a-shield tactics went a step too far.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Steve stopped and faced Bucky, for once not intimidated by the difference in height between him and someone else. “I wanted to tell you something, but conversation in a loud place is hard. I get self-conscious because I know I’m raising my voice but I don’t know how much. I want to hear your replies but I can’t make out what you’re saying over the close background noise. It’s not fair to make you sign while you’re trying to eat.”

“I get it, especially getting self-conscious. Honest. What were you going to say?”

Steve reached for Bucky’s hands, holding them both when Bucky moved to pull away. “I think your hands are beautiful.”

Bucky hadn’t had someone touch his prosthetic before, aside from Clint helping him with the rig and therapists when he’d first started using it. He watched Steve as he stood in front of him, studying his hand with an artist’s eye. He smiled. “You’re so weird.”

“I thought you knew that already. Hey, it got you to let me hold your hand.” Steve released Bucky’s prosthetic, tightening his grip on Bucky’s right hand. “Let’s go get something sweet, and coffee.”

“You could just ask.” Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s hand and his smile was mischievous. They started walking again, and Bucky continued. “So, that place was nice. Noisy. Do you ever get to go out to dinner and not get lost in the noise?”

“I know a few places that have quieter spaces. I should apologize for taking you there without scouting it out first. I should know better. First dates are already so difficult. I just wanted to check them out, and-” Steve felt Bucky tug on his hand and stopped talking.

“I liked it. Don’t apologize. I was just wondering if you could ever enjoy dinner out.”

“Oh. Well, yeah, like I said I know a few. So, now that I can hear you and we can have an easier conversation, tell me about Bucky.”

“I’m not good at on the spot. Ask me something specific.” It wasn’t exactly true, but he wanted direction, he could go off on subjects that might be boring and he didn’t want to do the narcissistic thing and just yack about himself.

“Okay, inside, I asked if you’re a native New Yorker but I couldn’t hear your answer. I thought I saw you said you moved here. Moved from where?”

“Indiana. I was just a little guy though. I pretty much live and breathe New York. I have a sister, my folks died. Dad, not long after we moved. Ma passed a few years ago.”

“I’m not trying to be trite, I’m really sorry. I know how it feels.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. So, do you have any siblings?”

“No. I’m the one who made it. Mom tried a few times, miscarried twice, once before me, and one after. Maybe she should have gotten the clue.”

“Don’t do that. You’re pretty amazing. I’ll bet she thought so.” Did he just do that? Bucky thought, yeah fine, he just told Steve something that saccharine and he meant it.

“Thanks. I just think she’d have spared herself some heartbreak.”

“Well, _I think_ she wanted a family, right? So she tried, and because she didn’t give up after her first time, she got you. Maybe you had some problems, but she loved you, and she knew she could face your challenges and love another kid too, no matter what the chances were. Maybe she had more joy than you’ll ever know. Don’t let your struggles darken your memories of your mother.”

They reached the coffee shop Steve had been leading them to, stepping up to the walk-up window just minutes before closing. Bucky bestowed a winning smile on the barista and ordered a cocoa and a hand-held pastry. Steve doubled the order with his own sweet smile. Bucky insisted on paying, so Steve doubled the tip. “Hey,” Bucky said to the barista as an afterthought. “We’re going to walk away from your window so nobody else thinks there’s a line. Flag us down?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Sucks to get a last minute rush, sucks to be the cause of one too.” Bucky told Steve as they retreated.

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“Nah, it’s just decent, you know?”

“You brought me coffee, you didn’t judge me too harshly when I was being infuriating this morning. I was judging you, but you were just as thoughtful then.”

“Being on the receiving end of that kind of constant abuse must wear on your resolve. I tried to tell them to quit. Before I talked to you I told them they were insensitive. It pissed me off that they dismissed the idea so casually.”

Steve saw the barista’s wave and hurried over to get their drinks and the bagged pastry with more thanks for the barista. He smiled as she locked the walk-up window and turned lights off at exactly closing time.

Bucky took his cocoa from Steve. “Do you know a place we can sit? Unless you’re gonna feed me, I think I should find a spot to set things down.”

“If you think the idea of feeding you is stupid, you’re stupid. I’m not gonna though. C’mon, I know a spot.” The thoughts this guy was putting into Steve’s head -- he shook them loose before leading Bucky into the center of the courtyard. “It’s always quieter here after dark. Luckily it’s been warmer this week so we can enjoy it.”

Great plan. Talk about the weather to fill the void. Good going, Steve.

“I’ll take any warm days. The cold plays havoc with this.” Bucky shrugged his shoulder. “You probably know a little about that, with the chest thing.”

“Yeah, you’re either intuitive or just a know it all,” Steve teased, sitting on a bench and taking Bucky’s cocoa so he could get comfortable. He set both cups between them and opened the bag. “Yeah, the ribs do get an advanced weather report.”

Bucky pulled his pastry out of the bag. “You’re sure this won’t kill you?”

“I’ve had them before. I’m sure. I guess I deserve it for the ‘know it all’ comment.”

“Yeah. You really do,” Bucky said around his second bite. “You know? This is amazing. Of course you know that, you’ve had them before. So, where in New York Steve? Before I start thinking you’re hiding somethin’.”

“Brooklyn. You?”

“Bushwick.” Bucky nodded. “Lemme guess, you're a… Brooklyn Heights, right?”

“Nah.” Steve shrugged after taking a drink of his not-so-hot cocoa. “My family’s had this same place for decades. When the building owner sold the property, I had the chance to buy my unit as one of the first condos. Natasha and Sam helped me with negotiations. You might notice, I have two speeds, so I appreciate someone who can navigate the in between. We negotiated a deal, so I’m a homeowner, so to speak.”

“You saw where I live now. It’s dinky but cheap enough. The place where I grew up was torn down, some real estate mogul trying to better the city by ruining the good things. Becca, my sis, moved upstate after Ma died. She liked the town where she was going to school, so she found a place, then found a guy.”

“You don’t sound connected to any of that. Except the nonexistent building.”

“I might have been a little bitter about coming home to no family. I tried staying with her while I recovered, but it didn’t help. Clint saw that I was withdrawing and kidnapped me and brought me here.”

“Kidnapped?” Steve’s arched brow did more to express his skepticism than the tone of his voice did.

“Well, he came to Becca’s, threw a hoodie at me and said ‘you need to get some air’. Once we got out of town, he told me I was moving in with him.”

“Yeah, I guess that technically counts as kidnapping. Did you fight him?”

“No. I didn’t care. One ugly window to cover with dark curtains or another.” Bucky shrugged. “It got better, obviously. After the psych ward that is.”

“So you mentioned. So that wasn’t immediately after your injury.”

“No, it wasn’t. Three months here in the city, I looked at my options. I had access to a pistol and I had knives. I had lots of pain meds. When I spread them out in front of me, I broke down. Listen, this isn’t first date conversation – how do I expect to get to the third date?”

“It’s okay. I’m not scared off yet.” Steve smiled, picking at the shell of his pastry. “I asked, didn’t I?”

“I did tell you I needed direction.” Bucky smiled back. “I’m okay mostly. I mean I can talk about it. it just brings people down, you know?”

“Did you do anything?”

“Not with the weapons or drugs, no, I called 911. I had myself committed.”

“Wow, I’m glad you didn’t try to hurt yourself. That really sucks.”

“I guess somebody who has spent so much time trying to live would have a problem with someone taking their life.”

“I can see how you might make that correlation. You don’t get to generalize me like that though. When you spend a lot of your life in pain and weak, going in and out of surgery, you’re not always the hero kid who sees every new day as a sunny blessing.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” Bucky looked up at Steve with a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, that was kinda shitty. I’m blowing my chances for a second date, huh?”

Steve could be mad at a generalization, but not at the nervous smile that came with the apology. “No, nothing’s ruined. I’m sure you’d rather talk about something else.”

“God, yes. Anything else. I don’t know how to do this dating thing anymore.” Bucky laughed, an endearing, nervous sound. “When’s the construction on your building supposed to be completed?”

“Not soon enough.” Steve rolled his eyes, thinking about his daily tormentors. “Does it look like two more weeks worth of work to you?”

“That sounds about right, although, if they worked more than they ran their mouths, they could be done sooner.”

“See what you can do about that, why don’t ya?” Steve teased.

“Yeah, like I have a lot of pull with those apes.”

“Okay, date’s over.” Steve exaggerated his movements as he shoved the pastry paper back into the sack never hiding his grin.

“Fine. I hate being used.” Bucky couldn’t keep the smile from pulling at his mouth either. “Good luck, Steve.”

“That was dramatic,” Steve laughed, setting the empty cup inside the bag and moving the trash from between them. “You’re still thinking about my internship offer?”

“You know, I haven’t thought more about it.” Bucky set his cup down on the sidewalk beneath the bench. “Not yet anyway. I’ve been too busy going back and forth from ‘how can I not mess this date up’ to ‘now I’ve really messed this date up’ ever since you asked. Yes, if your offer is still on the table, I will consider it.”

“Good. You haven’t, you know.” Steve’s knee brushed Bucky’s leg as he turned on the bench. “Messed anything up, I mean.”

“I’m glad. Still can’t understand how I’ve managed that.” Bucky couldn’t pull his gaze from Steve’s lips, licking his own in anticipation.

“Bucky.” Steve watched as Bucky’s tongue darted across his pink lips, distracted from what was being said. He’d known from the beginning of the date that reading Bucky’s lips was going to be a challenge. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

Bucky’s eyes shot up to meet Steve’s and his bottom lip slipped between his teeth and slowly the plump, pink lip rolled to freedom. Steve leaned forward, focused on the residual shine glistening in the glow of the light overhead.

“Well, what are you waitin’ for?” Bucky teased as Steve hesitated. He closed the distance, pulling Steve closer with a hand on his jaw, his fingers just behind his ear, careful not to bump or dislodge Steve’s hearing aid. Bucky instinctively licked his lips just before contact. Steve’s peachy lips were as kissable as they looked. Their plumpness had assured Bucky they’d be pliant and Steve’s subtle aggressiveness promised they’d be eager. Bucky would think for hours afterward how both of these things were true as they mingled with Bucky’s lips and tongue. He wasn’t a sloppy, wet kisser, which was an incredible relief.

Steve wasn’t disappointed in the kiss. Bucky had just enough of a sense of urgency that was inviting, yet not off-putting. He was careful, as though he was afraid of overwhelming Steve, or maybe himself. For a first kiss, it was sweet and promising. Steve’s hands were used to talking, so to keep them busy, he explored Bucky’s neck and his hair. That’s the reason he gave himself, not that he’d wanted his fists in Bucky’s hair since he saw him that morning. No, that would be ridiculous.

Steve pulled back to catch his breath, smiling and unable to open his eyes. “You’re less patient than I am.” The laugh rolled out of him as his eyes fluttered open. “You’re also a very good kisser.”

“I’ve had _some_ practice,” Bucky boasted, grinning when Steve laughed again. “I really like your laugh, Steve. I like your kisses more.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve had some practice too.”

“Great!” Bucky nodded, biting his lip with his brow raised mischievously. “I can’t wait to see what you have to show me.”

“Maybe on the third date.”

“I’m starting a petition. I want to call coffee and my breakdown in your office the first date, so that this can be number two. That way, breakfast can be number three.”

Steve shook his head, laughing, he wasn’t quite sure if he was laughing at himself for considering it or at Bucky for suggesting it. “You’re a charmer, Barnes.”

“It’s a gift.” Bucky winked, tugging on Steve’s ear just above the red star earring. “You’re cute enough, and sweet enough. I’m glad it translated.”

“You’re too much.”

Bucky crinkled his nose, grinning at the way Steve nuzzled against his hand. Almost like a kitten or a pup. “I could dial it back. But where’s the fun in that?”

“Speaking of fun, besides driving sports cars really fast, what do you like to do, Bucky?”

“Well, to be fair, I haven’t done the really fast sports car thing yet. I do nerdy things. _Warriors and Assassins_ , remember? I’ve designed a couple of video games. Clint and some of his friends are testing those out. I like to do outdoor stuff too. What about you?”

“I run. Every morning.”

“That does _not_ sound fun.”

“It is when you’ve spent your entire childhood, teen years, and part of your adulthood watching from the sidelines. I also really enjoy _Warriors and Assassins_.”

“You draw the comic, Steve.”

“If I didn’t enjoy it, it would be over by now.” Steve noted. “Should we walk? I’m starting to feel the cold.”

“Yeah,” Bucky rose, bouncing to his feet. He held his hand out for Steve. “Where to?”

“We can take the long way back to the car, if you’d like.” Steve picked up the brown paper sack containing their trash, then grasped Bucky’s hand to stand. “We can talk longer.”

Bucky liked the feel of Steve’s hand in his, but the cold made him reconsider. “You should put your gloves back on.”

“It’s not that cold yet.” Steve gave Bucky’s hand a squeeze after dropping the bag into the trash bin. “Are your – I mean, is your hand getting cold?”

“Nah, I’m absorbing all your warmth.” Bucky bumped Steve’s shoulder. “Running and work are your only fun?”

“No.” Steve smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes. “I hope these don’t sound too much like work to you. I’d hate for you to think I’m boring. I study martial arts. Oh, and I like to drive sports cars _really_ fast. So, what kinds of video games?”

“The latest is an RPG. That’s the one they’re working out the kinks on. My first game was more of a kid’s puzzle game. I was still getting the hang of programming and development. I could probably clean it up quite a bit now that I know a little more about what I’m doing.”

“So, the graphic design job is a ‘get the bills paid’ gig, right?” ‘Obviously’ Steve thought, but what else do you say? He was proud of himself for holding down any level of conversation. Recalling his discussion with Sam before the date, he’d been certain he’d screw up long before dinner had been served. “I mean as a jumping off point for the game business?”

“Yeah. I want to make my money doing what I know best. This construction work isn’t helping my battered body.” Bucky crinkled his nose at Steve. “I want to take enough classes that it helps me with both, you know? Not have to trade or barter some artist for graphics that I could be creating myself.”

“Good plan. I’d like to see your game and get your input on my ideas for a _Warriors and Assassins_ game. Maybe a fourth date?”

“Just keep rackin’ ‘em up.” Bucky laughed. The sound echoed across the courtyard and down the alleyway leading out and Steve wanted to make him laugh again.

“I’m tryin’. Almost as hard as you with your ‘technically this is already a second date’.”

“It _is_ Steve. We had coffee. Together. And I was speechless, that’s gotta count for something?”

“I would be flattered, if you being _speechless_ hadn’t actually been you being in the middle of a PTSD nonverbal break. You’re funny, Bucky.”

“I’m tryin’ real hard here, Steve.” Bucky stopped, lifting his prosthetic to Steve’s shoulder with an endearing smile. “You don’t even have to put out, just show me something from the next issue.”

Steve closed his eyes, unable to look at the earnest, puppy dog face without laughing. His shoulders shook under the weight of Bucky’s artificial hand as the silent giggles overtook him. “You’re seriously telling me that my dumb comic is more appealing than this body?”

“Well, I donno, will you be wearing those suspenders you had on earlier? I really liked the way they highlighted your shoulders and pointed straight at your ass. If you wear those, I could be convinced to hold off on the comic.”

“Suspenders?” Steve crooked an eyebrow. “You’re not serious.”

“They were hot. I mean they were paired with well-fitted pants, who styles you? Is that your artist’s eye? Or do you have a service?”

“It’s all me, wingtips to earrings and everything in between.” Steve adjusted Bucky’s red plaid scarf. “Just whatever I like. I like this look. Who styles you?”

“Whatever’s clean, and stuff I clip from Clint.” Bucky smirked. “Just whatever I like. By the way, I really did like the purple and blue gradient wingtips. Subtle but amazing.”

“Thanks, those are probably my favorite shoes that aren’t sneakers. Why did you make me start talking about shoes? Are you trying to tell me my comic _and_ my clothes are more appealing than my body?”

“I’m not saying that, no. I’m just trying not to think about your body.” Bucky brought his hand to Steve’s cheek. “You’re trouble, Rogers.”

Steve used the intimate contact as an excuse to kiss Bucky again, moving in with obvious intent. His tongue tickled Bucky’s chilled lips. The warmth from Steve’s mouth mingled with the cold air on their wet skin. Bucky put his arm around Steve’s back, pulling him close.

Their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly as Bucky’s hand slid over Steve’s leather jacket, up to his soft, blond undercut. Steve made a little noise when Bucky lightly scratched the back of his head, and Bucky was reminded of a cat again, and “no cat references” Steve wasn’t making it easy to keep the thoughts away. He pulled away sooner than he would have. when a laugh bubbled up.

Steve looked at him, shocked, or hurt, Bucky wasn’t entirely sure how to translate it. He rushed to reassure Steve. “I’m so sorry. You said no cat references, but twice, I’m so, so sorry, Steve. Two times I thought you were so cute and affectionate, like a kitten. Don’t hate me.”

Steve shot him a look with one eye partially closed as he considered Bucky. “I hate you.”

“You don’t.” Bucky bit back a grin.

“I guess it wasn’t a finicky eater comment.” Steve was still considering. “I’m not, Bucky.”

“You practically purred when I had my fingers in your hair.” Bucky tossed his arm across Steve’s shoulders. “I won’t abuse it, I promise. Come on, let’s go see if they Ferris Bueller-ed your car.”

“You’d better not,” Steve grumbled. “A cat? Seriously?”

“I’m sorry, Steve. Just because some asshole called you names for taking care of yourself, it ruined it for the rest of us.”

Steve managed to contain another grumble at the reference, tugging against Bucky’s arm across his shoulders. They ended up in a friendly shoving match until they reached the sidewalk near the valet station, where they hurried to appear normal in case anyone was paying attention.

Once the valet dropped the car off, Steve stood in front of the passenger door, blocking it. “Hey, you don’t need the steering ball for a little _legal_ street driving do you?”

“ _Technically? Yeah._ If you’re willing to overlook a technicality -- You gonna shift? Wait, you’re gonna shift on the test track too, right?”

“Yeah, if you think you can do it without dropping the clutch.” Steve grinned over the roof of the car.

“I will be good to this baby, I promise.” Bucky slid into the driver’s seat, moving the seat for length and adjusting his prosthetic for safety. “Jesus, Steve, I’ve never driven something this cool.”

Steve’s smile wasn’t going anywhere, the joy on Bucky’s face was a highlight of the day. He’d wonder about why later, since he’d only known him since that morning. “Ok, let’s do this.”

“You must not get to drive this too much, being the city and everything?”

“No, it’s like I said earlier, an inherited toy that I never get to use. I might as well get a few mortgage payments out of it or something.”

“I’m just glad I got to sit in it.”

“If we’re unlucky, we’ll be sitting a lot. Let’s hope we’ve missed most of the traffic.”

“Well, at least if we get stuck in a jam, we’ll have more time to talk.” Bucky and Steve worked the clutch and gears together, and Bucky pulled away from the curb.

Bucky was too busy concentrating on everything, not familiar with the car or driving these streets, not to mention having so much power in his hands. He had to block out the last time he commanded something of its caliber so that he could breathe, and focus on driving. He couldn’t talk to Steve like this, he hoped for a little of that traffic they’d joked about. It was only a handful of blocks before he pulled to the side. “I can’t focus on this and talk to you, and of the two, I really would rather talk, Steve. Let’s save the driving for the test track.”

“You got it Bucky. I’m sorry if…”

“No, it’s all new and yeah, I’d just prefer talking.” Bucky let the anxiety roll off as he walked around the car. He looked at Steve as they crossed behind the glowing red tail lights. “Thanks, though.”

“Sure. Trust me, my first few times in this thing, in traffic, were hectic.” They finished their seat-swap and pulled their doors closed. As Steve buckled in, and waited for Bucky to get his belt secure he decided to ask, “Is it a date if I pick you up for work in the morning?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve. Of course that’s not a date.”

“Would it be okay anyway?”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged; though on the inside he wasn’t just shrugging, he was giddy. “I mean since it’s on the way, why not?”

“Great. What time do you have to be on site?”

“Six thirty. Wanna stop for coffee on the way? I’ll treat.”

“Sure, I’ll need coffee – it’s another long morning in the office before Gallery hours, getting proposals ready and doing the books I didn’t finish today.”

“If any of that’s on me, I apologize.” Bucky looked across the car at Steve, admiring his profile.

“None of it is, don’t worry. I had a crappy attitude starting the day behind those guys in line at the coffee shop and the paperwork isn’t my favorite thing, so it was easy to let the mood pull me away from what I needed to accomplish.”

The car was getting closer to Bucky’s neighborhood, and even with the promise of a ride to work with Steve the next morning, Bucky wasn’t ready for the date to end but he couldn’t come up with anything to extend it. They turned the corner toward his building and he saw the light in his apartment on. “Steve, stop here, okay?”

“Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Nosy roommate.” Bucky chuckled. “Walk me home?”

“I thought you said your neighborhood was shady. You want me to walk back alone?” Steve parked the car and looked out of the corner of his eye at Bucky. “Which is it?”

“You’re safer than your car is.” Bucky grinned. “Well, dressed as sharp as that, maybe not. I could toss you one of my old hoodies to make the trek back.”

Bucky noticed Steve seemed to be scoping out the neighborhood as he climbed out of the car. It really wasn’t as shady as he’d been painting it out to be. Sure, some car thefts had happened, but he was going to have to let the guy know it wasn’t all that bad.

Bucky was about to reach for the handle when the door swung open and Steve stood beside it, offering his hand. He looked up and smiled, this guy didn’t have a bad angle. “Thanks,” Bucky said once he was out. “I was teasing about walking me home. I can make it half a block. I want you to stay safe.”

“I’m sure you’ll be safer with me, Buck,” Steve said with a smirk as he put his arm across Bucky’s back after closing the car door and setting the alarm.

“Oh?” Bucky leaned against Steve’s slim body. “Oh, that’s right. Martial arts.”

“You don’t believe me?” Steve challenged. “It’s okay. I know I didn’t make the best impression this morning, letting those guys get to me, but I can’t exactly make a scene during business hours.”

“I wasn’t judging that. What are you gonna do? Attack them for giving you jump-scares? When would be the best time? Before it happens or while you’re piecing yourself back together?”

“You’re right.”

“Besides, you saw what their bullshit did to me.” Bucky pursed his lips, stuffing his hand in his pocket as he looked sideways to gaze at Steve’s pretty profile. “Yet you still went out with me.”

“Yeah, and I had my moments and you still kissed me.” Steve’s smile was tender. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Yeah, I have to say the same.” Bucky shrugged. “Let’s stop at the stoop. Talk a little more, and with any luck, we’ll be far enough back that some nosy fool on the third floor won’t be able to see too much. Then I can kiss you again.”

“It’s a worthwhile trade-off.” Steve nodded. “I promise I don’t talk about this all the time. In fact, most interactions with people are of me trying too hard to pass for hearing. The artsy, goofy, hearing aid is usually mistaken for a Bluetooth or some kind of hipster jewelry, so I get away with it, and then I sort of make a poor impression on dates.”

“Well, I don’t always use this thing. It’s heavy and battery drain is awful. I look forward to the hours that I don’t have to use it. Research and development.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your openness and I think you should look out for yourself. Speaking of, would it freak you out if I was _literally_ single-handed on our next date?”

“No.” Steve smiled at the question. “As long as neither of us talks about what we don’t have. The introduction phase for that ends tonight.”

“Deal. Now, kiss me, Rogers.”

Bucky watched Steve’s lips turn up as a laugh escaped. He felt the weight of Steve’s hand on his shoulder as he stepped backwards up onto the stair above Bucky’s, reducing their height difference. That was _very cute_. Ordinarily, Bucky would be nervous of somebody feeling the ‘rig’ to his prosthetic under his clothes for the first time. However, the gentle squeeze before Steve’s slender fingers trailed across Bucky’s shoulders, beneath his scarf, and up the sides of his neck, weren’t nerve wracking. At least not in the same way.

Steve’s fingers tickled Bucky’s neck making it hard to resist flinching and curling into them. He distracted himself by watching as lush eyelashes veiled sky blue eyes illuminated by the porch-light, and Steve’s lips closed in on his. Bucky claimed Steve’s plump bottom lip between his teeth. The kiss evolved from small brief kisses and nips, to desperate biting and licking. Tongue thrusts coincided with equally desperate groping on both parts. Bucky backed Steve into the concrete stair rail, pressing his body against Steve’s slim frame. He writhed against Steve as he swallowed Steve’s pretty moans.

A rude sound overhead tore Steve’s mouth from Bucky’s, and Bucky looked from Steve to the ape in the window upstairs. “Barton!” Bucky called with one very annoyed word and a middle finger. Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around Bucky after sending up a signed retort to the “how much for a blowjob?” sign Clint had fired off at Bucky.

“I take it you didn’t tell him?” Steve said in Bucky’s ear. “His reaction was priceless.”

“No,” Bucky laughed, nuzzling his cheek against Steve’s lips before he could pull away. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I hate to say it; he probably did us a favor.” Steve’s hand gripped Bucky’s. “We have an early morning after all.”

“Yeah, I probably should try to get some sleep. Thanks for making a pretty rough day a really decent day Steve. Thanks for improving it even more with a great date.” Bucky kissed Steve again, conscious of his audience, he made it mostly tender with only a hint of dirty.

Steve backed up slowly, licking his lips with a smile, and Bucky reached to brush his thumb across Steve’s lip.

“Good night, Bucky,” Steve said with a smile, as he stepped slowly down each stair. He turned and looked at Bucky again before pivoting to head up the street. Bucky watched from the porch until he saw the car lights and heard the rev of the engine before retreating into the building.

Bucky sighed as the elevator slowly dinged its way down to the first floor. Kissing Steve was becoming his favorite pastime. Steve was definitely not a novice kisser, which made him wonder what other talents he had. Did his exploits in _Warriors and Assassins_ stem from real life?


	3. Chapter 3

When Bucky entered the apartment to Clint’s usual torment, from lewd questions to a giddy, goofy “I think your boyfriend hit on me.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You’re a menace,” Bucky signed. “You shouldn’t have been left out of your cage this long. I don’t know why I keep you around.”

“You love me,” Clint said, sounding smug as usual. “I take it you were nervous for nothing.”

“Not for nothing.” Bucky picked up his latest issue of  _ Warriors and Assassins _ . “I just dry humped the prettiest boy.”

Bucky slapped the comic across Clint’s shoulder. “That boy… drew this.” Bucky nodded as Clint’s eyes opened wider in understanding.

“You mean to tell me you met your idol, made a fool of yourself in front of him  _ and _ he asked you out.”

Bucky couldn't stop nodding. “And he walked me home, kissed me like a motherfucking dream, and…”

“…and you’re being a teenage girl about it,” Clint interrupted. “This is the best ammunition for the future of everything.”

Bucky signed for Clint to help him with his prosthetic, collapsing onto the couch the second he was free of it. “Thanks. All day I wore that thing.”

“This R&D thing is a bitch. This prosthetic is heavy shit. How much longer are you testing it?”

“Not long, but too much longer for my tastes.” Bucky yawned, looking up at Clint through heavy lids. “I haven’t had any pressure sores or anything so I’m sticking with it. I’m gonna tell them all the misery of it though.”

“You're complaining like a champ, but you’re glowing, Buck. You two really seemed to hit it off, and he appears to have a decent sense of humor.”

“No bullshit either. He’s pretty genuine. He’s…” Bucky sighed. He resorted to careful speech, dropping his lazy sign, knowing that if he kept that up, he’d get socked.

“You’re in trouble, Barnes.” Clint laughed. “You want to do something with this thing?”

“You can do it, I’m already comfortable.” Bucky watched as Clint walked across the room with the prosthetic and draped it over the back of a bar stool.

“What do you think I was before you came dancing in here all love-struck?” Clint dropped next to Bucky.

“He’s picking me up in the morning.” Bucky yawned again. “I guess I really should hit the sack.”

“Bucky.”

Bucky looked up at the serious tone. “Yeah?”

“You sure you’re not moving a little fast?”

“I’m not moving at all.” Bucky looked around him, waving his hand over his body sprawled across the couch. “Besides, aren’t you the one who kept saying. ‘you gotta get out, Buck, even if it’s just a one-night-stand’? Well, I’m getting out and I kissed him a few times. I’m taking it slower than a one-night-stand.”

“A one-night-stand would be over with, also known as  _ not serious _ . Okay, okay. I just thought I’d remind you, you might be feeling things deeper and faster than he is. Don’t want you moping around heartbroken again.”

“Aww hell, that was one time,” Bucky complained as he scooted away from Clint to the corner of the sofa. “The guy was clearly out of my league, and my ‘moping’ lasted all of a week.”

“It was a month. One month, and you were miserable. You made  _ me miserable _ .”

“You are miserable.” Bucky pushed against Clint’s ass with his sneaker covered foot. “I’m going to bed,” Bucky groaned sitting upright. “How much work do you think I could get done with one arm?”

“You do all of your work with one arm,” Clint answered, not looking away from the video game he’d resumed.

“Okay, but how about  _ only _ one?” Bucky stood in front of Clint between him and the television.

“Christ,” Clint grumbled trying to look around Bucky. “I liked you better when you were lonely. Won’t that interfere with the R&D schedule?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I care.”

“What’s this guy put into your head?” Clint paused the game. “Maybe he’s not so cool after all.”

“Nothing. I wore that thing twice as long as I ordinarily would, I didn’t want to feel lopsided and gimpy, so I chose to keep it on, now I’m tired and sore. You said it yourself, it’s heavy.”

“Vanity will make us do terrible things, Buckaroo. Too bad though, you probably need to suck it up.” Bucky moved as Clint used his forearm against Bucky’s hip to shove him out of the way.

“Fine. I’ll remember that when you turn your ears off.” Bucky swiped his ‘ _ Assassins _ ’ comic off the arm of the sofa and popped Clint on top of the head with it before heading for his room.

“Night, asshole,” Clint called after him.

* * *

 

“I’m home,” Steve said into the phone as he turned the key in the lock. “It was an okay date, even with all of the embarrassing things I managed to do between getting a menu and having dinner.”

“What could you have done that was so embarrassing you’d think that?” Natasha asked.

“Well, let’s see. I took my glasses off – no wait, back up – I wore my glasses.” Steve juggled the phone as he took his jacket off and hung it in the entry closet. “I took them off to read the menu, and when I tried to put them back on to see him, I fumbled them, dropping them. That stress plus the general first date anxiety caused me to have an asthma attack. I’m a mess, Nat. You know that.” 

He rolled his eyes as she laughed at him. “You’re a mess all right.”

“That’s not all of it though. I had to cut dinner short just to talk to him, just to be able to hear him. I took him to that new place, and there’s not a table in there that won’t be surrounded by noise.”

“You went to a new place, yeah, that was kinda dumb.” Steve knew she wasn’t done laughing at him. “So, it was an okay date, you said so yourself. What happened after? You cut dinner short and?”

“We walked to that coffee shop with the walk-up window.” Steve dropped his keys on the table by the door and locked up. “We walked and had dessert in the cold.”

“It’s been warmer the last few days though, so it sounds like a good idea.”

“I kissed him, Nat.” Steve flung himself onto the sofa, legs dangling over the arm, his free arm behind his head. “He kissed me.”

“Sounds like the date was better than okay. Sounds like a good date, Steve.”

“He’s a fan of the comic. Is that bad? Should I be worried?” Steve shoved up onto his elbow, looking across the room as if it held the answer to his question.

“You tell me. Did he pursue you?”

“I’m the one who did the asking. I told him what I did, what we do.” Steve untangled the wrap bracelet from his wrist, flinging it onto the coffee table before removing the star studs from his ears.

“Did he seem weird after that?”

“No, it wasn’t like that.” Steve pushed his glasses up onto the top of his head, lying back on the sofa. “He’s really nice. Is that normal? I don’t get the nice guys Nat.”

“I know. That’s why it doesn’t feel normal, but it’s what you deserve. I want you to tell me about him.”

Steve smiled, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and first two fingers. “He’s attractive.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you. You said nice, hopefully his attractiveness isn’t just skin deep.”

“Okay, he’s one of the construction crew, but he’s  _ not _ one of them. He brought me coffee as a peace offering.”

“He’s not one of them, meaning he had a change of heart? Or…”

“He was new on the site today, he didn’t engage in any of their pranks, and he called them out for being assholes. He was being friendly.”

“Points.”

“He’s kind of rugged looking, but in a real sweetheart way, you know? He’s got the bad-boy biker look down, but when he smiles, Nat.” Steve sighed. “I can’t believe you have me gushing about him like a love-struck high schooler.”

“I don’t have you gushing, you are doing that on your own.”

“I guess Bucky’s to blame for the gushing.” Steve smiled. “I’ll tell you more when we get together. I’m tired and have an early morning.”

“You’re damn right you will,” she said.

“I’ll give you one more. I’m picking him up in the morning, since we’re going the same place and he’s on my way.”

“You’re going to owe me.”

“I know. Love your face. Night, Nat.”

“Love  _ your  _ face.”

Steve ended the call and considered sleeping right where he was, but vetoed the idea. He scooped up the jewelry from the coffee table and headed up to his bedroom.

He would tell Nat all about Bucky. He wouldn’t be able to get out of it, but she knew better than anybody else did just how busy he’d made himself in recent weeks. There was no chance in hell that the first words out of her mouth when they met up to work on the comic wouldn’t be, “tell me about this Bucky guy.”

Steve looked in the mirror as he removed his medical necklace, his fingers lingered on his neck remembering the warmth of Bucky’s neck beneath his fingertips as they’d kissed and how his body had responded as Bucky’s body rubbed against his. Steve licked his lips, dragging his fingers down over the front of his white v-neck t-shirt and over a sensitive nipple.

His attention was divided between his face and his hands in the mirror. He was sleepy, yet breathless in his arousal. Steve imagined Bucky’s whispered kisses on his throat and his lips and tongue accosting his mouth. Drawing his hand down his shirt, Steve licked his lips again, catching his tongue between his teeth as he slid his hand beyond the waistband of his jeans. Steve took a breath, and with it, let his jaw go slack, not breaking eye contact with his reflection. He wrapped his fingers around his cock, bracing himself against the dresser as he used the memory of Bucky’s combination spicy-vanilla scent, his laughing eyes, and his exquisite physique to carry him to his climax. Coming in his jeans, Steve let his head fall back, as he repeated Bucky’s name between moans.

When Steve was able to move, he rolled his head forward, seeing his pink cheeks and bright red lips in the mirror. He smiled at his reflection before stripping his shirt and unfastening his jeans. He tilted his head looking down at the scar that went from his chest to his belly button, wondering what Bucky would think, and imagining Bucky’s fingers tracing the angry line. Steve returned his attention to the mirror, puffing up his slender chest and giving himself a cocky look, before stripping out of his jeans and underwear. He tossed all of the soiled clothes into the closet, missing the hamper.

Yawning and scratching his head, Steve wandered past the bed into the bathroom. He pulled a soft white washcloth from the shelf above the towel bar and ran it under warm water in the basin scrutinizing his tired face again in the harsher light of the bathroom. “He kissed you, Rogers. Stop worrying.” Steve walked back into the bedroom with the wet cloth in hand, washing the rest of the stickiness from his skin as he went. He tossed the cloth on top of the clothes before flinging himself across his bed face first, gripping a pillow, and curling himself around it. Bucky’s smiling face was the vision he held onto as he gave in to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

It was noon and the deluge outside kept Bucky from taking his lunch on the stairway outside. He desperately wanted as far away from his coworkers as possible. They hadn’t let go of his meltdown the day before, razzing him all day, giving him shit for being afraid of loud noises.

_ He had already stared down the biggest one, not caring that his shoulder ached from wearing the prosthetic too long the day before, and wearing it again. Not caring that the guy was easily a head taller than he was, Bucky looked the man squarely in the eye, remembering that he wasn’t the sum of his injuries, but the sergeant he’d been before. _

_ “Listen up. I’ve put up with enough of your bullshit in less than twelve combined hours working on this site. I won’t listen to one more bullshit thing that you or your cronies throw at me. As for jump-scares for the art gallery guy, you do that one more time, your ass will be on report, and I don’t care who you’re related to, the man is running a business and you’re being disrespectful and breaking any number of job site rules. Let’s not get started on the monetary damages you’re causing to the supplies by mishandling it.” _

Bucky resorted to ignoring them once the guy walked away muttering something along the lines of, “better hope you don’t get caught alone.”

No, he was not looking forward to sharing a space with any of them. Bucky picked up his backpack and crossed the foyer to the gallery, hoping that Steve wasn’t busy and if he was, that he’d at least let him down easy.

When Bucky walked through the door and the lights flashed along with the chime. He looked around the gallery; the displays for the showing had come quite a ways from the day before. The questionable looking sculptures were backed by dyed silk stretched across panels, making the harsh lines look less so, and warming them enough to make them appear ethereal. Bucky jumped when Steve touched his shoulder from behind.

“Sorry.” Steve blushed.

“Sorry.” Bucky bit his lip and smiled slowly. “I was admiring your displays. The sculptures don’t look as scary or  _ ugly _ ,” Bucky whispered the last word, exaggerating it slightly for Steve’s lip-reading.

The laugh that escaped Steve’s body was boisterous and joyful. Everything about Steve seemed, to Bucky, to be larger than life.

“What’s up? Everything okay? If you need refuge, the office is yours.”

“Not  _ yesterday’s _ kind of refuge, but I was looking for a place to take a lunch break. Have you eaten? I’d be happy to share my lunch. If you don’t mind homemade sandwiches.”

“I don’t mind, I was about to order in, but homemade sounds good.”

“For all you know it’s PB&J.” Bucky grinned. “It’s not, but you didn’t know that.”

Bucky followed Steve into the office noticing he was wearing the suspenders again, with a darker pair of trousers today. The single strap down the center of his back was still an enticing advertisement to that nice round ass. Bucky shook his head. His night of wet dreams fueled by seeing this man in fine silk shirts and soft, thin t-shirts in the space of just a few hours before ending his night by kissing him, had kept Bucky from getting much in the way of  _ quality _ sleep. He willed his body to cooperate; five more hours and another motorcycle ride behind Steve were still ahead of him.

Bucky blinked, and looked up at Steve when they were both in the office, and he’d clearly missed something. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. What was that?”

“I asked if your morning was better than yesterday,” Steve repeated with a patient smile.

Bucky was glad Steve seemed to be understanding. He really didn’t want to have to explain the source of his distraction.

“It hasn’t been by much, no. I’m in hell over there, Steve.” It was delivered dramatically, and Steve laughed, but Bucky meant every over-the-top syllable. “I might have to see if another site could use my help.”

“That’s…” Steve sat behind his desk, he leaned forward, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. “It’s good that you might have that option.”

“It would suck. I’d have to cross the river.” Bucky opened his backpack, rearranging ice packs, he pulled out two sandwich containers, and passed one across the desk to Steve. “It would really mess up my VA study appointments and fuck the hell out of me if I want a personal life for the next two weeks.”

“Thanks,” Steve said quietly, opening the plastic container. Bucky watched for a reaction to his complaint, the creases between Steve’s eyebrows deepened. He wondered if it was distaste for the lunch or his announcement. Bucky’s stomach flipped when Steve’s face perked up, his brows shooting up under the errant shock of hair. “Homemade bread, too?”

“Yeah, it’s just a thing I like to do.” Bucky grinned, taking a big bite of his sandwich. “I hope none of this is on your allergy list?”

“No.” Steve peeked under the top slice. “It’s  _ not _ PB&J, that’s promising. No shellfish?”

“Is that an allergy?” Bucky asked. “Or a disappointed inquiry.”

“Allergy. I have a few that could kill me, and some that will just make me miserable.”

“I might need a list.” Bucky took another bite, watching as Steve did the same. “I have some chips if you’d like.” Bucky said around his mouthful of sandwich, passing the plastic bag across the desk. “Made those too,  _ not _ fried in peanut oil.”

“When you said ‘homemade lunch’, I didn’t imagine you actually  _ made everything _ .” Steve took a couple of chips, popping them both into his mouth. “These are really good, Bucky.”

Steve looked stupid and hot at the same time, talking with his mouth full. It made Bucky imagine other things his mouth could be good for.

“Thanks,” Bucky smiled belatedly. “I’m not the most attentive company, am I?”

“You don’t have to be. You’re welcome back here any time you need, and if you want me to vacate, I can. Look--” Steve picked up his notebook and smiled at Bucky. “--portable.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’m not about to kick you out of your own office. I really am glad for  _ your  _ company. I’m just easily distracted today.”

“I noticed that this morning at coffee. Or are you not a morning person?”

“I need a good hour after my caffeine kicks in, especially after a questionable night’s sleep.” Bucky had  _ not  _ intended to say anything about the night before, not before Steve brought up some facet of their date, but here he was.

“Bad night?” Steve’s eyes widened and his cheeks flushed before he looked down at his lunch. “I’m sorry, if I had anything to do with that, I’m really…”

“Steve.” Bucky waved his hand to get Steve’s attention. “You had  _ everything _ to do with last night, but I  _ don’t _ want you do be sorry.” Bucky knew he was smiling like a damned fool, but he was intrigued and relieved by the sudden flood of color over Steve’s face.

“That’s – well –” Steve hesitated. “That really sounds flattering, actually.”

“So.” Bucky rushed to change the subject. “Is this our fourth date?”

“Four?” Steve tossed Bucky a look and Bucky knew he wasn’t pulling anything over on anyone.

“Coffee twice,” Bucky talked around a bite of his sandwich before remembering not his manners, but Steve’s hearing challenges. He finished his bite, repeating himself. “Coffee, yesterday, and today; dinner last night, and now lunch.”

“Ahh.” Steve’s smile grew slowly. “No.”

“No?” Bucky stared at Steve with his mouth agape. “So lunch and coffee didn’t count, when were you going to tell me?”

“For the record, a date will be the following; one of us asks the other out and makes at least some effort to plan something.” Steve signed for no real reason other than for emphasis. “We go out, and we do what is planned, or at least make a decent attempt. Our physical challenges might require a little reworking like last night, but we must make an attempt.”

“Sounds fair.” Bucky nodded after some consideration. “You’re just trying to keep me from seeing the  _ Assassins  _ spoilers, aren’t you?”

“You caught me.” Steve smirked as the light flashed and the chime on the door rang. “Hey, I don’t have anything where it shouldn’t be, do I?”

“You look perfect.” Bucky nodded appreciatively.

“I’ll be back.” Steve wiped his hands with a tissue, heading out to the main gallery.

Bucky sat back in his chair, a surprisingly comfortable piece of furniture for its modern appearance. He felt relief that he didn’t seem to be wearing out his welcome and he was starting to feel more comfortable in his skin. The day had really worn on him. “Can’t hide here all day, you really do have to go back over there.” He coached himself as he swept crumbs into the empty sandwich container. He’d love to call it a day and hike the blocks toward home, but the thought of riding back with Steve at the end of the day was enough to push him to try.

He could hear Steve talking with a client as he bagged everything except for Steve’s lunch, covering the sandwich in its container. He left the sandwich bag of cookies on top with a post-it that had his scrawled “Thanks. Will you join me for drinks tonight after work? (ps. That would be a date…)” The last two words were underlined; twice.

Bucky signed “later” to Steve who looked away from his client briefly. Steve nodded and Bucky took a deep breath before opening the gallery door to head back to the job site across the foyer.

He looked around the open space of the building between the office they were working on and the gallery, before shouldering through the glass door to the construction zone. He quietly resumed placing decorative tiles along the wall, burying himself in the work and the music coming from his headphones.

A hand on his shoulder brought Bucky out of the zone he’d successfully immersed himself in. He braced for more trouble, but relaxed when he saw Steve. “Hey.” A smile crept over his face while his heart rate settled. He tried to figure out exactly what it was he was reacting to.

“Hey. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m closed up for the day. How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

Bucky looked around to see that he was the only person left on the site. Figures, the one time he tells people to leave him alone, and they actually do as he asks, yet he’s caught off guard all the same. “They just left me here. God I hate those guys. I haven’t kept you too late, have I?”

“No.” Steve smiled. “Are we still on for drinks? Or did you want a rain check?”

“I definitely want to go for drinks. I know a place not far from my apartment, quiet, great drinks, and decent bar food. I hope you won’t mind giving me fifteen minutes to clean up from this, and change my clothes first.”

Steve picked up Bucky’s backpack from nearby and watched as Bucky took care of the tile grout container and stacked the remaining tile boxes near the spot he’d left off. “I can wait.”

“We can walk too, more time for conversation, if you’d like.” Bucky remembered to stand near Steve’s ‘good ear’, especially since he wasn’t facing him. “Clint’s not home, so you won’t have to deal with him.”

Steve laughed as Bucky stood up. “He seems cool.”

Bucky relieved Steve of the backpack, draping it over his prosthetic and then wrangling his right arm through the strap. “Don’t ever let him know you said that. Don’t even let him think it’s possible.”

They both laughed as Bucky locked up the office before they went out the back of the building to Steve’s Harley.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, this is it, the humble abode,” Bucky announced as he stuck his key into the lock on his apartment door before hesitantly unlocking the multiple locks. “I don’t know what you’ll see on the other side of this door, I apologize in advance.”

Steve watched as Bucky dramatically peered through the crack in the doorway. “I practically live with Nat when we’re cramming last minute on the comic. I know how it is when someone else influences your living  environment.”

“You could probably say I’m influencing Clint’s living environment. Still, there could be sharp objects in places they don’t belong. Place could even be booby trapped, he hasn’t pranked me in a while, wouldn’t put it past him to do it hoping to get both of us.”

“Your friend sounds very interesting.” Steve laughed quietly, appreciating how seriously Bucky was taking the approach into the apartment.

“Actually, I’m just a bundle of PTSD nerves and I hate going in when I know Clint’s not here. You’ll tell everyone my first excuse if you talk about it, though won’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll be sure to let everyone know your roommate is a nuisance.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder reassuringly. “Would you like me to go in first? Or do you have a ritual?”

“Clint says I should get a dog that’s trained for it. Funny, he’s not quite as affected, but I guess things work differently for different people.” Bucky pushed the door open fully, still cautiously scoping out the small living room. “I can handle it; it’s my home after all. Besides, I’d just have to make sure you didn’t miss a closet or under the bed. You sure about this dating thing?”

“I’m sure.” Steve’s hand slipped slowly down Bucky’s back. He waited as Bucky ventured through the doorway and watched as he scoped out the room and down the hallway before waving Steve in and asking him to hit the deadbolt.

The place was small, big enough for a sofa and a television with a gaming system, and a small barrel chair. The kitchenette was connected, divided by a short, narrow bar, with a single barstool. He imagined they figured out who fit where at any given moment.

“I’ll be out in a few,” Bucky said distractedly as he peered inside the closet, on the way to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He popped into the bedroom briefly, before coming out with a change of clothes in his hand. “I’m sorry, Steve, make yourself comfortable.”

Steve smiled in the direction of the hallway, sitting on the edge of the sofa. There were books on the coffee table; one on graphic design, a Stephen King novel, a book with a bright yellow cover titled _F*ck Feelings_ , and three issues of _Warriors and Assassins_ tucked underneath it. Steve picked up the yellow book, flipping over to the back, and read:

 

 

> “While most self-help books are about examining your feelings and fulfilling your wildest dreams, _F*ck Feelings_ will show you how to find a new kind of freedom by getting your head out of your ass and yourself onto the right path toward realistic goals and feasible results.
> 
> **_F*ck Feelings_ ** **is the last self-help book you will ever need!** ”

He thumbed through the book, and cast a couple of smiling glances down the hallway, nodding. He’d probably ask to borrow the book if Bucky didn’t seem too upset by his nosiness.

Steve heard the water turn off and the door open. He looked up to see Bucky in clean jeans and a t-shirt, he watched as Bucky ducked back into the bedroom carrying a bundle. Moments later, he came out, and Steve noticed his hair was tied back and he was focused on pinning up an empty sleeve.

“Hope you meant it,” Bucky said, meeting Steve’s gaze and lifting the arm in question. “I can’t take that thing another minute.”

“Meant every word.” Steve smiled, waving the yellow book toward Bucky. “Yours?”

“Yeah, it’s a decent read, you know?”

“I was gonna ask if I could borrow it.”

“Sure.” Bucky shrugged. “You’ll have to tell me how you felt about it.”

Steve stood up when Bucky grabbed his jacket off the barstool. “I can do that, as long as you’re not expecting a full book report. I stopped doing those once I was out of school.”

“Hmm… on second thought…” Bucky mused, smirking. He held the door open for Steve. “No, I’d just be interested in hearing if anything struck you. It’s been a good between sessions reminder.”

Steve watched Bucky lock the door, a brief whiff of cologne hit him as Bucky turned. “If I were to tell you that you smell fantastic, would that be creepy?”

“Only if you don’t follow it up with a kiss,” Bucky said with a partial smile. “You know you haven’t kissed me once today.”

“That’s a thing?” Steve asked with a gravelly voice. He stepped up to Bucky, closing the distance with a grin. “So, you smell wonderful.”

“You mentioned that --” Bucky’s hand landed lightly on Steve’s jaw as Steve moved in, owning Bucky’s lips for a brief moment. Bucky moaned, sliding his hand behind Steve’s neck and into the short hairs at the back of his head. Steve moved his head under Bucky’s hand, feeling the tickle from the movement. He let Bucky take over the kiss while his own hands roamed Bucky’s shoulders and chest. When they separated, it was with mutual grins, and matching red, puffy lips.

“Okay, so where’s this bar?” Steve asked, holding a hand out for Bucky, uncertain if he’d take it.

“Around the block.” Bucky gripped Steve’s hand firmly. “I’m glad today’s rain stopped, I like the idea of the walk.”

“Me too, actually,” Steve agreed, following Bucky down the stairs. At the bottom, Steve grabbed the front door, holding it open for Bucky so they could continue holding hands. “It’s tough talking on the bike. More like impossible.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said quietly, then spoke more directly. “So, you’re going to tell me all about your gallery business, tonight, right? I mean, if I’m going to intern for you, I need to know everything, don’t I?”

“You’re just trying to make me talk about me again,” Steve accused with a sideways glance.

“Give and take, I promise.” Bucky grinned, tugging on Steve’s hand. He slipped his arm across Steve’s slim back, resting his hand on Steve’s hip. “I do want to take you up on the internship, and I want to start as soon as you need me.”

Steve put his arm across Bucky’s waist, matching their footsteps. The bar came into view before he expected it to. It was quaint and surprisingly quiet. Once inside, Bucky led him to an empty table away from the sound system and stage. Their server appeared moments later, and Bucky flirtatiously ordered a cocktail and sliders, while Steve went with a whiskey and begged for more time with the menu.

“You do better at picking a place to eat and talk than I do. Points to you.” Steve grinned over the top of the menu. “I really wanted that place to be cool.”

“I’m not worried. You’re the one who didn’t get to enjoy the experience.” Bucky shook his head, pursing his lips. “I just wanted sliders. No real points for that.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve countered. “Thanks for not making a big deal out of it, and for not letting me do it either.”

“Of course not, I figured if this place was as bad, I had beer back at the apartment. It seems we’ve beat the rush, which is good. I _really_ wanted the sliders.”

They both laughed. Steve really liked Bucky’s laugh, not just the sound, which could be cut out by the slightest shift in position, but the physicality of it coupled with the sheer joy on his face. “You’re making me curious about those sliders. Anything else you’d recommend?”

“Anything on the menu really. I’m sorry, that’s no help, is it?” Bucky smiled softly, he scooted closer to peek at Steve’s menu, brushing his shoulder against Steve’s. “Avoid that, shellfish. This has nuts. This…”

Bucky’s face was close enough to Steve’s, that when Steve turned to look at Bucky, his lashes brushed Bucky’s cheek.

“The burger’s pretty amazing.” Bucky smiled and blushed, looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye. “Or if you feel fancy, these are all good, I’ve been told.”

Steve wondered, momentarily, if it was crazy to kiss Bucky in the corner seat of the bar. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and smirked as Bucky took all of the wonder and curiosity away by kissing _him_.

“What?” Bucky pulled away smiling.

“You read minds too?” Steve grinned, covering Bucky’s hand with his own. “I was wondering if that was an acceptable display.”

“Your whole life is displays; you couldn’t work that out for yourself?” Bucky laughed, sliding his hand free to take a drink, before offering his hand back to Steve.

“Gallery displays aren’t anything close to PDA,” Steve argued, squeezing Bucky’s hand in his own. “We’re not exactly in the right club for making a scene like that.”

“Nah, this place is cool.”

Bucky scooted back to his seat when the server came to their table with drinks and got Steve’s order. As he did so, he wondered if it gave Steve the wrong impression, especially after reassuring him one breath earlier. He watched, as Steve ordered his food, not able to find his tell. His gaze lingered on Steve’s lips, licking his own, when Steve’s hand brushed his thigh.

“Bucky?”

Bucky smiled slowly, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. “Yeah? Sorry I got distracted.”

“Distracted huh?” Steve smirked. “You always stare when you’re distracted?”

“If the distraction’s as tasty as your mouth, I do.” Bucky rolled his eyes, making to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Steve caught Bucky’s hand before he could clear the space. “Just so happens I’m collecting lame lines.”

“Since I’m not at all proficient at lip reading,” Bucky shifted in his seat, turning to look at Steve. “What were you saying while I was so rudely staring at your mouth?”

“I was _about to ask_ if next weekend would be too soon for the test track. I made a few inquiries this morning between bits of paperwork. We can have the track as early as next weekend if you’d like.”

“That’s – yeah. I thought maybe it would take longer, you have _no idea_ how long it’s been since I was able to drive and drive fast.”

“You live in New York I assume it’s been a while.” Steve smiled over his drink, looking a little devilish.

“Yeah, that’s what one would think, mister ‘I drive a Jag’.”

“Sometimes,” Steve corrected Bucky with a grin. “I mostly pay for it to be parked. Is it too soon in our relationship for a weekend away?”

“I don’t know. Should we take a poll? I think it’s fine. Maybe those two over there have a different opinion.”

“We don’t need to take a poll.” Steve laughed, tugging on Bucky’s hand to keep him seated when he moved as though he were about to cross the space to the next table. “I was asking _your opinion_.”

“Oh, okay. I mean, you could phone a friend. I’m pretty sure if _I did_ , Clint would have two words for me. I’ll tell you though, I’d just take them as advice, even though he would mean it purely as an insult.”

“Dare I ask?” Steve put a slender hand under his chin, watching Bucky.

Bucky took a long sip of his drink. “Get Fucked,” he said stone-faced, before raising his eyebrows and wiggling one mischievously.

Steve’s laugh was warm, and then sultry, before he let go with pure glee. Bucky was so taken by him; he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed. He’d let this guy see so much more of himself than anybody except maybe Clint and Becca had seen, and it was all purely by accident. Bucky was surprised to realize that he was open to letting him in even more.

“I think that’s a fair interpretation,” Steve finally said, his eyes smoldering over his whiskey glass as he drew a long drink from the amber colored spirits.

“Well, it’s bound to be our what? Third date? Fourth if we keep this pace? I love how it’s gotta be the third date before I can see the next issue of _Assassins_ but we haven’t discussed sex at all. Are you a third date kind of a guy all the way around Steve?”

Steve’s grin and blush, with an encouraging eye roll, combo made Bucky laugh.

“I keep embarrassing you.” Bucky’s smile turned shy as he rubbed at his left sleeve subconsciously. “I’m sorry.”

“No, not at all. Are you--” Steve’s smile grew as he leaned closer, his breath caressing Bucky’s cheek. “--A third date kind of guy, Bucky?”

“I’ve waited til the third a few times.” Bucky admitted. “Sometimes even fourth or fifth. Ouch, this almost sounds like _What’s Your Number?_ It’s not that high, I promise.”

“You’re an adult, I like an experienced partner.” Steve scrunched his eyes closed when their server started setting out Bucky’s food and the basket of fries as he spoke. He scrunched up his nose and ducked into the crook of  Bucky’s neck momentarily, causing Bucky to bite back a laugh.

They both giggled as soon as the server was halfway across the floor. “I told you, I’m the cause of your constant embarrassment.” Bucky laughed, brushing his hand across Steve’s jaw before scooting aside so he could eat without elbowing Steve.

Steve cleared his throat, licking his lips and taking a deep breath to control the laughter, and possibly, Bucky thought, other reactions, just maybe, it might not be wishful thinking. This time.

Bucky knew the sliders would be messy, he knew they’d be a challenge, but he didn’t care. At least their size made them manageable with one hand. Steve made things fun, carrying the conversation, filling him in on what his job would entail as Steve’s intern. When the server brought Steve’s food, causing a lull in the conversation, Bucky dropped his slider and stared.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, clearly concerned.

“Should I be facing you? I’m so sorry, Steve.” Bucky was overwhelmed with embarrassment.

“Not at all, clear up to dinner we were holding hands.” Steve’s smile was earnest. “It’s not too loud, you face me when you talk to me, and I’ve been doing all the talking, just like you planned.”

“You gotta know I was teasing about that.” Bucky moved to stand up. “I can move, I mean, we’re not holding hands now, I’ve gotta use it for food.”

Steve’s hand rested firmly on Bucky’s knee. “Buck, relax. I’m okay, we were communicating just fine. _You’re_ not hearing _me_.”

Bucky sat back against the chair. “You’re right. I’m doing exactly what we’d agreed we wouldn’t do.”

“Besides, if it got too difficult, I’m capable of moving around to make things work.”

Bucky took a deep breath, shaking his head, and rubbing his hand roughly on his jeans. He caught Steve’s eye and the smirky reassuring lift to his brow. “I know. I hate when people get over the top; I feel like a complete ass.”

“Well, I can’t tell you how to feel. I hope it reassures you to know that tonight has been _infinitely_ better than I felt last night started out to be.” Steve’s hand was still on Bucky’s leg, somewhere between his knee and his thigh, rubbing soft circles with his fingers and thumb. It was reassuring, and not just a little arousing.

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s, smiling as he turned to face him. Steve was close enough Bucky could see the flecks of green in Steve’s clear blue eyes, and could possibly count, if he took the time, the wealth of lashes that framed them. “How is it somebody as gorgeous as this, created by the ultimate artists, is also an artist?”

Steve turned to look at Bucky, shock and something else on his face as he blushed and a surprised sound came from deep inside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve demurred.

“Shit, did I say that out loud?” Bucky’s eyes widened and he sucked his lip between his teeth. “I mean, it’s true, but so fucking lame. Oh. my. god. If you want to leave me here, to make a complete fool of myself all by myself, please don’t feel obligated to stay.”

“You meant it?”

“Yes Steve.” Bucky huffed, looking away before reluctantly looking back. “I meant every word that I didn’t intend to utter. You’re a damned masterpiece.”

“I’ve never heard something so passionate. It’s the clothes.” Steve shoved one of his jacket sleeves up to his elbow. “I need all the help I can get.”

“Steve, it’s _not_ the clothes.” Bucky turned to sit sideways on his chair. His hand settled lightly on the side of Steve’s face, brushing his thumb across the sharp cheekbone, while his pinky trailed over Steve’s jaw and neck. “You’ve got beautiful features. When you’re serious, you remind me of a sculpture, but when you smile, you’re a skyscape, sunny and vibrant. What? Has nobody _ever_ told you you’re beautiful?”

“I’m not answering that.” Steve’s smile quivered under Bucky’s palm. “Of course someone has, before now.”

“Of course, or you’ve dated people with horrible taste.” Bucky kissed Steve’s lips tenderly. “You taste fantastic, too.”

“You’re such a dork.” Steve blushed and shoved at Bucky impishly. Suddenly, his voice dropped and he looked at Bucky with a cautious glance. “You know how you said this place is cool? Those guys over there don’t seem all that chill.”

“You’ve got the martial arts, and I’ve mastered the stink eye and a hefty dose of ignoring people’s homophobic bullshit. No, honestly, I’m not exactly a slouch in hand-to-hand combat. I’m at a _slight_ disadvantage, but they don’t know how slight. You good?”

“If you are. Another drink?” Steve asked. “I don’t want to let them chase us away, honestly don’t want them following after us either.”

“Yeah, I’m in if you are. There’s karaoke in twenty minutes, if you’re game.”

“Calling more attention to ourselves, instead of less?”

“We’re on a date. Do you sing, Steve?”

“In the shower. It’s probably one of my lesser talents.”

Steve probably shouldn’t have worried about the men at the bar shooting disapproving looks, he was always just a little on edge about guys who were bigger than him, who paid a lot of what seemed to be _extra_ attention to him. Bucky’s inability to give a shit was a relief. Their server had changed and they stayed for more drinks while Steve watched – only watched – as Bucky served up some 1980’s glam as soon as karaoke started.

Bucky tried to get Steve to join in and it almost worked. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off Bucky. His stage presence was inspired. Steve was honestly torn between laughing at the gyrations and pantomimed stripping during Adam Ant’s _Strip_ , and being brutally aroused. The man had some promising moves, and some very distracting, perky nipples peeking through his t-shirt.

Bucky slid into the chair next to Steve closest to the karaoke stage, and took a deep drink from Steve’s whiskey glass. “That’ll take it out of ya.” He laughed.

“Tell me about it.” Steve’s breath cooled Bucky’s skin “You ever think of being an entertainer?”

“Nah,” Bucky laughed again.

Steve tried not to notice how the pink color of Bucky’s alcohol-flushed skin went beyond the neckline of his t-shirt. His attempt at distraction was in vain when his diverted eye was then drawn to Bucky’s pert nipples pressing against his thin t-shirt.

“In answer to your much earlier question,” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s ear. “I don’t have a minimum.”

“Clint’s gone for the weekend.” Bucky shifted in his seat. “If you want to head to my place for dessert. I make a mean Guinness float. It’s a good halftime treat.”

Steve watched Bucky pull his wallet from his pocket and wedge it between his thighs, was it rational to be jealous of a wallet? Bucky pulled cash from the wallet and left it in the folder the server had dropped off during the karaoke display. Steve tried not to be nosy, but noticing things was part of what he did for a living, so the cards that poked out of the slots, military and VA cards, a driver’s license, and a single credit card, were prominent. A purple card with edges that were frayed from wear hung catawampus form one of the slots, and appeared to be scrawled across in a child’s hand with a primitive purple flower. Steve smiled as Bucky caught him looking.

“My riches.” Bucky grinned. “It’s not a fat wallet, but if you were expecting that, after my lame introduction, you really are deaf.”

Steve shook his head. “I wasn’t supposed to be peeking, but observation is what I do. I’m sorry.”

“No need. So, character study, who am I?”

“I don’t know. What’s the purple thing?”

Bucky pulled the card out, kissed the little flower, and handed it to Steve. “My niece drew this for me when I was in the hospital.”

Steve looked at the signature childlike drawing of a little girl with curly brown hair spilling over a triangular purple dress. She was holding a flower, and various sized letters spelled out a stacked “I love you unkle Bucky”, complete with backwards “e”s.

“She really likes purple.” Bucky smiled. “Obviously.”

“I like it. She looks just like you,” Steve teased. “It appears well-loved.”

“I keep thinking I should have it laminated, one of these days it’s gonna be too mangled.” Bucky lifted the pocket in his wallet with his index finger when Steve offered the card back. “Slide it back in for me?”

Steve did as asked, leaving it askew as it had been, so the flower with heart-shaped petals peeked out. He looked up at Bucky, savoring the close-up view of the curved smile lines at the corners of his eyes and the upward swoop his brows did. Everything on this man’s face was evidence of smiling, laughing, joy. He hated to think of _which_ hospital stay Bucky was referring to. Wondering at how hard it must be for someone so inherently happy to suffer so much loss and pain.

“So?” Bucky peered at Steve. “Who am I?”

“You’re Bucky.” Steve smiled. “And I’m not a psychic, I’m an artist. You’re obviously a good-looking guy who loves his family and appreciates their love and support. I’m much more interested in kissing you than analyzing you, and if your offer still stands after I was so _painfully nosy_ , I’m _very interested_ in learning more about you and your talent for halftime treats, not to mention the actual event.”

They both stood up, Bucky adjusting his wallet in his back pocket, and Steve pushing his chair back, and grabbing Bucky’s jacket. He offered to help him into it, not thinking anything other than being chivalrous, until Bucky looked at him with a raised brow. He almost aborted the plan and handed it over, but Bucky put the stump of his left arm into the left sleeve, and let Steve smooth it over his shoulders after his right arm was through the sleeve.

“Thank you.”

Steve nodded, trailing his fingers over Bucky’s neck, grinning when Bucky wiggled under his fingertips. Steve shrugged into his jacket, imagining them undressing one another within minutes once they were inside Bucky’s apartment.

“People don’t often feel comfortable doing that.” Bucky said as they stepped outside of the bar. “I guess I kinda creep them out or something.”

“I’ll confess something that might make you feel better.” Steve stepped around so that he faced Bucky. “I wanted to do it, but you almost looked threatening. Like you were daring me to be creeped out, and it almost worked.”

“Maybe it’s a practiced reaction to people being creeped out?” Bucky teased. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off. It’s nice being treated well.”

‘Who mistreats you?’ Steve wanted to know. He wanted a list – he’d publish and publicly shame them in his comic as villains, if he couldn’t do anything else. “You deserve it, Bucky.”

Steve slipped his hand across Bucky’s shoulders, but the height difference made it awkward walking, so his arm slowly slid down Bucky’s back and his hand rested on Bucky’s waist.

“Listen, Steve.” Bucky slowed, looking through heavily lidded eyes down at Steve, his voice was thick from the alcohol. “This is where things get complicated. Where I tend to complicate them, I’ve been told.”

“If you’re not ready, we’ve only had two official dates, it’s okay.”

“I haven’t gotten much action since this.” Steve felt Bucky shrug his left arm as they walked side by side. “Maybe you should – maybe you shouldn’t be so welcoming. I mean, don’t let me into your office, and be all cute and irresistible. You can do better than me.”

Steve felt the disappointment like a dead weight in his chest, if they went forward, he’d be taking advantage of Bucky’s clear intoxication, and if they didn’t, he’d be hurting Bucky with feelings of rejection. Steve knew all too well how those feelings sat.

When he had to fish the keys from Bucky’s pockets and open the door, it was clear that rejection was the order of the evening. Steve sighed deeply, wondering how best to do this without crushing Bucky’s soul and his own with what he knew would be the most pitiful puppy dog eyes ever. Steve divested Bucky of his jacket, setting it over the barstool where he’d taken it from a few hours earlier.

“C’mon, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice was still thick but the words were clear. “Undress me, take a good long look.”

“I have a different idea.” Steve put both hands on Bucky’s face, rubbing his thumbs over his temples, looking at him appreciatively. He softly, slowly kissed his lips, stopping just before Bucky caught up. Keeping one hand on Bucky’s neck, Steve pushed the other through Bucky’s hair. “Come with me.”

“That’s the plan.” Bucky laughed, the swing from confrontational to silly was quick and unexpected.

“Nope, I have other plans.” Steve steered Bucky toward the bedroom, and Bucky tugged Steve toward the bed once the doorway was cleared.

“Have it your way.” Bucky started tugging at Steve’s belt.

Steve put his hands between them, on Bucky’s solid chest. “Bucky. Not this way.”

“What then?” Bucky looked up at Steve, his face was a mix of hopeful and drunk, and stupidly endearing.

Steve pushed Bucky up against the bed then sat beside him. “I didn’t realize you’d had so much to drink.” He said quietly, taking Bucky’s hand in his. “I’m not going to do this when you’re this far gone.”

“I’m not gone. I’m not drunk,” Bucky argued, tugging his hand from Steve’s. “You don’t want me, you say so.”

“I do, but I’m telling you,” Steve confessed. “Bucky, tell me you wouldn’t be as noble if I was the one who was this far gone. What do you say we pass on the Guinness floats, and sex? Just for tonight. I’m not ready to leave yet, so if you don’t hate me, we could watch a movie or something?”

“Or you could tell the truth, it’s because of this and the scars.”

Steve rose and crossed the room, tossing his soft almost-apricot colored tweed jacket and taupe vest onto the chair by Bucky’s dresser. “If it were scars, I’d be a hypocrite,” he grumbled, unbuttoning his shirt as he crossed back to stand in front of Bucky. “You do remember when we talked about a possible tattoo for this right?”

Bucky looked up at Steve and Steve watched as he took in the length of the scar down his chest.

“It’s such a turnoff, isn’t it?” Steve asked.

Bucky reached up, tracing the line, and Steve shuddered. He didn’t think this through, the anger from Bucky’s accusation drove him to this place.

“T’is but a scratch.” Bucky giggled, they both burst into fits of laughter at the reference.

“Stop that,” Steve warned, still laughing. “Hey, you wanna watch that? We could definitely compare flesh wounds another time. Mind if I borrow a t-shirt?”

“You sure you want to be putting clothes on?” Bucky asked, tugging on Steve’s shirttail.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Steve wasn’t sure, but he knew this was _the right thing_ to do.

“In the second drawer.” Bucky’s grip on the hem of Steve’s shirt didn’t loosen as he gestured toward the drawer and even as Steve turned to retrieve a t-shirt.

Steve took Bucky’s hand again. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky looking up at him with those silvery-gray eyes, half lidded, and veiled by that thick brush of straight lashes did nothing to assure him he was making the right choice. ‘You’ll hate yourself in the morning’ didn’t help either. Steve shrugged out of the shirt and left it with his other items, before opening the dresser drawer and seeing neat rows of folded t-shirts and lounge pants.

Steve pulled out a pink tinted, probably used to be white, t-shirt and two pair of pants. He tossed one pair at Bucky, landing them in his lap before pulling the shirt over his own head. “In case you want to get out of those jeans.”

“Oh I’ve made it perfectly clear…” Bucky’s voice was a combination of dejected, alcohol fueled, and sultry, making Steve shake his head.

“Do I have to go in the other room for this?” Steve asked, turning to see Bucky standing at the edge of the bed, bracing himself upright with his thigh against the mattress and box springs as he tried to push the jeans down over his ass and thighs with one hand. Steve had to tear his eyes away from the firm round bottom that was facing him, to see Bucky every so often reach to steady himself against the bed before pushing the tight denim down further.

Steve unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants, stepping out of them swiftly, and into the borrowed pair, before he offered to help Bucky. “Just don’t think if you were sober I’d even give this a second thought,” Steve grumbled, hoping to dissolve any arguments about Bucky’s autonomy and independence.

“You’re a peach, Steve,” Bucky gushed, wrapping his now free arm around Steve’s neck. “I really do like you. You know what? I have a shirt just like that.”

“I know, Bucky.” Steve shook his head. “This is yours, and thanks again for _letting me borrow it._ ”

“You look good in my shirt,” Bucky said, before breaking into song. “ _All I know is you're sure looking_ ; _Good in my shirt; C'mon now; Aww that's right; Oh you look so fine; And maybe it's a little too early; To know if this is gonna work; All I know is you're sure looking; Good in my shirt_.”

“I liked the Adam Ant cover better.” Steve kissed Bucky’s nose after he pushed him to a seated position on the bed. “Here, can you manage these?”

Bucky took the pants and flicked them unfolded, stuffing one foot in, and managing to get it all the way through the pant leg in the first try. When his other foot got hung up in the crotch, Bucky giggled softly. Steve stood beside him, waiting for the silliness to abate. He brushed his hand over Bucky’s hair, fingering the ends idly until Bucky successfully got the pant-leg on.

With his pants pulled to his thighs, Bucky grabbed Steve around the waist and pulled him so close he was nearly on his lap. He nuzzled Steve’s neck. “You’re sure about this valiant effort to save my virtue?”

“I’ll be right back, I’m going to go get some water.” Steve pushed against Bucky’s shoulders. “Put your pants on.”

Bucky screwed up his face in a scowl before hiking the waistband over his hips. He pulled the drawstring tight without tying it.

“You’re just gonna take off now that you’ve stolen my clothes,” Bucky called after him.

“I don’t know if you really believe that or not,” Steve said, peeking back through the door. “Or if you even remember I might not hear you at all.”

“I remember. I was counting on it,” Bucky teased. “But seriously, don’t steal my clothes.”

“I left my suit.” Steve shrugged.

“That wouldn’t fit my one leg, scrawny little artist,” Bucky grumbled, watching Steve with a sly smirk.

Steve turned toward the kitchen, shaking his head. It wasn’t so bad, being called scrawny when in the previous minutes the same guy had almost convinced him to change his entire moral code.

Steve came back into the bedroom bearing water bottles, to see Bucky sitting at the head of the bed against the pillows and headboard, with his arm over his eyes. He’d managed to remove the long-sleeved shirt and was now wearing just a white v-necked tee. Steve turned the light off, and set one water bottle on the bedside table to Bucky’s right. He walked around the bed to set the other down on the left side and climbed onto the bed next to Bucky. “I didn’t steal your clothes.”

“I’m a shitty date,” Bucky groaned.

“You gonna be sick?” Steve suppressed a smile, it was mean and he didn’t want that, yet he wasn’t ever more thankful for a darkened room.

“No, I think I’m okay.” Bucky didn’t _sound okay_ , but Steve knew the feeling, somewhere between ‘yes’ and ‘hell no, not if I can help it’.

“Okay.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s outer thigh. “Can you talk?”

“Of course I can talk,” Bucky pulled his arm from over his eyes, looking at Steve with intensity. “What do you mean ‘can I’?”

“I just meant, if you feel too crappy… Okay, do you _feel like talking_?”

“Why are you still here?” It wasn’t mean-spirited or accusatory, just curious.

“Because I was still _going to be here_ if we hadn’t had too many drinks served. Because I still want to spend time with you, even if I don’t think it’s fair to take it to the next level when you were overserved.”

“You can say it. I’m drunk.”

“Okay, you’re drunk. I won’t take advantage of that.”

“Why not? We were about to, before you went all Boy Scout on me.”

“It’s just wrong, okay?” Steve sighed. “I was there once. I know _you’re_ not me and the _situation’s_ different, but it’s not cool, Bucky, and it’s one of the top things I won’t do. Drunken assent isn’t consent.”

“You’re not the garden variety artist. You’re something else, Rogers.” Bucky reached for the remote and turned the television on.

Steve looked up at the smallish set on the wall and then back at Bucky. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You can just keep it to yourself if it was intended differently.”

Steve put his arm behind Bucky, resting his cheek on the top of Bucky’s head when Bucky settled against his torso. The snores that came halfway through the first act of the movie Bucky had selected were soft, and made Steve feel even more deeply for this guy he’d known less than forty-eight hours.


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky groaned and nestled deeper into the warm body that was pressed against him. He couldn’t open his eyes, they felt weighted shut, and oh, jeez they burned. The light finger-scratches at the back of his head would be  _ so nice  _ if they weren’t so fucking loud. “Quieter,” Bucky whispered.

Steve didn’t move and Bucky didn’t know if he’d even heard him. What Bucky wouldn’t give for a little temporary deafness right now! The scratches stopped and Steve’s fingers combed through the lengths of Bucky’s hair. That soft rustling sound was still almost too much, but not nearly as painful to Bucky’s hangover headache as the scratching sounds had been. Bucky rested the apple of his cheek on Steve’s firm, slim, chest. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said quietly.

Steve brushed his free hand over Bucky’s arm, and Bucky looked up at him, the silence was a blessing, and it was terrifying too. “It’s okay,” Steve mouthed, unable to sign with his hands full of Bucky’s hair and bicep.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Bucky’s hand rested on Steve’s ribs. “I guess you have to head out.”

“I’m going to have to in an hour or so,” Steve said quietly. “Are you okay to skip a day?”

“I don’t know. Yeah. As long as this doesn’t show poorly for that internship I was hoping for.” Bucky smiled in spite of the agony of the hangover. “You’re a pretty decent guy; you think I can still handle it?”

“Be quiet.” Steve’s voice was warm even if it was too loud for Bucky’s head. “You know, every time I bring up your job, you counter it with the internship. You’re not going back are you?”

“Yesterday was the worst. I stood up to them, but I made some decisions too. I wasn’t going to go back, that might be wrong, I was upset and in pain when I made those decisions. But no, I don’t think I’ll go back...”

“Not for nothing, but you could negotiate an earlier start date on the new job.” Steve’s fingers trailed over Bucky’s back.

“I suppose that’s a phone call I could stumble through this afternoon.” Bucky sighed, feeling tired again. “If you’re not completely put out by me, I wouldn’t mind talking later, when my head’s not ready to combust.

Steve slipped from the bed, making Bucky feel cold and frustrated. When he turned to look at Bucky he smiled, dissolving the frown Bucky was working up to before it could form. “I’ll be back in a few, just going to the kitchen, drink your water.”

Bucky reached for the water bottle he vaguely remembered Steve putting there the night before. He should have had some last night, when he was so very “ _ not drunk _ ”. He shook his head and instantly regretted it. When Steve came back in bearing food and tea, Bucky was struck with the realization that he’d been hugely unfair the night before.

“You were right last night,” Bucky offered as Steve sat on the edge of the bed. “I was unfair, and even though I called you a Boy Scout intending to insult you, it’s not an insult. I’m so glad I landed myself a Boy Scout.”

“That’s almost the nicest thing I’ve ever heard. You should know I was never a Boy Scout.” Steve handed Bucky a plate of eggs and honeyed toast. “Should help with the hangover.”

Bucky balanced the plate on his lap and took a sip of the tea. “Peppermint. I didn’t know I had peppermint tea.”

“I always have it with me. You can’t always find good peppermint tea, especially when you need it.”

“Boy Scout.” Bucky smiled, setting the tea by his water bottle. “Thanks for resisting my obvious charm.”

“It wasn’t all that easy, actually,” Steve confessed. “You’re persistent.”

“And borderline manipulative,” Bucky groaned, bumping his shin against Steve’s knee. “I’m sorry about that.”

“And incredibly attractive. Don’t worry, the manipulative bit was hardly noticeable,” Steve assured him. “I’ve gotta run, I have to go home and change, and get to the gallery in time to open the doors.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t have the extra time for paperwork and proposals this morning. I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s not necessary. Just get rid of your hangover. Call me when you’re feeling human again, I’ll see if I can come up with a third date worthy of your suffering.”

“You’re going to spend time thinking about a date to  _ reward me  _ for getting too drunk to properly finish our last date?” Bucky set his fork down on the plate, cupping his forehead, and pressing the heel of his hand against his eyebrow. “That statement hurt my head.”

“It’s not like that.” Steve flushed. “It sounded like it, didn’t it?”

“It sounds exactly like that.” Bucky offered a wan smile. He leaned against the headboard and watched through half-open eyes as Steve changed from his pajamas into the suit he wore the day before. “Check the fridge and see if there’s anything that strikes your fancy for lunch. I promise even the leftovers are top quality.”

“How about…” Steve turned, buttoning his shirt. “You warm one of those for your lunch. I’ll be fine, Buck. Thanks for the offer.”

“Yogurt? A piece of fruit?”

“If it will make you feel better.” Steve smirked. “More water, rest, and make that phone call.”

Bucky smiled up at Steve when he reached across the space and placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s temple. “Maybe I’ll think up a date to make up  _ to you _ for the shitty end to the last one.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Steve smiled. “Are you going to finish this?”

“Nah, I might nibble the toast later. I ate as much as my stomach would allow.”

“I’ll put the toast in a baggie.”

“Your bedside manner is amazing. Must have learned a lot huh?”

“Well, I know what doesn’t work. You’re not a horrible patient. You’re not even the worst drunk.”

“I’m glad I made an impression.” Bucky leaned against Steve’s hand when it cupped his cheek. “What an impression.”

“Yeah.” Steve laughed. “You’re unforgettable.”

Bucky watched as Steve grabbed his jacket in one hand, carrying the plate with the other. He slid down and covered his face with the blankets. He didn’t hear anything once Steve was out of his bedroom, and let sleep take over.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s rushed morning wasn’t as stressful as it could have been, waking up next to Bucky was one of the best things to happen to him in a while. He’d made it home and to the Gallery with just enough time to call Sam and beg for a coffee run.

Sam showed up smiling as Steve unlocked the door. “Thank you, Sam, I needed this so bad.”

“Sure, you don’t call me to tell me how the date turned out, then when you need something, who can I call? I’ll bet Natasha heard all about Mr. Out of Your League.”

“She was up late, you actually sleep at night.” Steve tried to defend himself. “It was a good date, Sam. You were right, when aren’t you right?”

“I’ve been saying this for years.” Sam followed Steve through the gallery. “This stuff stinks, you can make better art than this.”

“It sells. I like some of it. Why does everybody hate this?”

“It stinks.”

“You should meet Bucky, you two already agree on art.” Steve laughed, sipping steaming hot coffee. “It’s not the best. The artist’s last stuff was much better. It won’t be here past Wednesday, selling or not.”

“This ‘“Bucky’”… that the guy? Some name.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s cheeks lit up, he had to tame the grin by biting his lips and then taking another sip once that didn’t quite work. “Bucky, it’s a nickname from his middle name. Come on, Sam.”

“Okay, fine. So, the date was good.”

“We had a second date last night, we almost…”

“Almost? What happened? 'Almost’ doesn’t sound right, Steve.”

“He had too many drinks. I was borderline but he was pretty drunk. I guess I didn’t want to notice it when I suggested… anyway, I didn’t let it get past the suggestion.”

“Honorable.” Sam nodded, squinting at one of the pieces hanging in the middle of the room, suspended from the ceiling. “You handled this ugly stuff very well, it’s almost appealing.”

“Thanks. You should definitely meet Bucky.” Steve chuckled. “He said pretty much the same thing yesterday. I do what I can.”

“So, you left and?”

“I didn’t. I made sure he got home, and I honestly didn’t want to let him down, you know? Is it weird? I felt bad because he was feeling self-conscious. I didn’t want him to think I was rejecting him, I’ve been there.”

“Did you _do_ anything _weird_?” Sam asked, cocking his head and giving Steve an intent look. “How could it be weird?”

“I stuck around, made sure he was safe, and I sat with him until he passed out. I spent the night but nothing happened.”

“That’s weird.” Sam nodded, pursing his lips and crinkling his nose. “I’m kidding. You’re a nice guy, Steve. You do _the right thing_. It’s just what you do.”

“Says the guy who was suckered into befriending me.” Steve laughed.

“I know and now I can’t seem to get rid of you.”

“I’m afraid that’s what’s happening with Bucky. I’m in too deep already.”

“Why? You almost slept with the guy?”

“That, and I woke up next to him. It was nice, Sam.”

“You’re entitled, Steve. Not everybody has one-night stands. You’re _not_ a one-night stand guy. You called me because you were worried about taking advantage of him, yet you didn’t. You had a nice enough date that you called Nat gushing about kissing him and then you had another nice date. You wanted to get some, but you didn’t. Because you’re a nice guy.”

“Nat told you about the call.” Steve rolled his eyes. “I can’t even say I’m surprised.”

“I have my ways.” Sam grinned. Steve watched his friend glow, sunshine, that’s what Sam was. “What?”

“You’re not remotely subtle.” Steve smirked. “You know how to make a guy feel better. I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from work.”

“They can deal. I’m skipping out on paperwork. I haven’t bugged you in a while, and I got time.”

“Yeah? Bug away. How’s work? I can talk until somebody comes in. Bring me lunch and I can talk even longer.”

“Oh? I see how you are.”

“I’m not saying I won’t pay! Just, I don’t know if I can get away, so if you’d like company…”

“Tell you what, I’ll take your card, make a phone call, and meet you and the _delivery person_ here at lunch time. Are you a big tipper? I didn’t get a tip for my delivery.”

“You want a tip? I didn’t know you swung that way, Sam.”

“Hey, don’t go getting all hot and sexy on me, I’m in a committed relationship. Natasha would kill me with her thighs…”

“Do _not_ finish that sentence.” Steve laughed. “Just take your filthy mouth and your lukewarm coffee and go.”

“I’m gone, you trust me to order lunch?”

“Yeah.” Steve pulled his wallet out, flipping it open. “Take the black one.”

“Ooh.” Sam gave an over-dramatized look of awe. “Big spender. See you at lunch.”

Steve pushed his glasses up on his nose as he waved with his coffee. He turned to survey the displayed art and sculptures from several angles before heading to the back to collect the rest of the pieces that would replace his own works on the back walls. It was blissfully quiet next door, as he grabbed boxes.

If he hadn’t heard the shuffling of his own labor, he might have checked the volume of his hearing aid. He wasn’t going to let the temporary silence lull him into a false sense of security. Just because he dated Bucky twice, he didn’t expect any newfound respect from any of them. From his own observations, and from what Bucky had confided, they didn’t like Bucky much either.

Steve kept busy with the remaining display pieces, feeling connected to the art, whether or not these pieces were a favorite for him, or his friend, or his boyf… _Bucky_. He was moved by the lines, even if they weren’t a thing he’d pursue on his own. The bent and warped metals of the sculptures were playful and the vibrant colors of the artwork painted on translucent panels paired with the lighting rigged behind and above them enhanced the chunky silhouetted shapes.

Steve was immersed in the display when the first sharp rap on the window of his gallery sent chills down his spine. His first thought was that Sam was already there, but he knew that Sam wouldn’t sneak up on him in that way. Before he turned there was another sharp hit on the glass and a chorus of laughter that he saw out of the corner of his eye before he heard it.

“That peace was short-lived,” Steve muttered to himself. He pushed up from the floor and adjusted the hem of his shirt over his hips before stepping out of the office. “Can I _help_ you, _gentlemen_?”

“No, no, we just wanted to say ‘hi’. Your bodyguard boyfriend didn’t show up to work today. Have a little tiff?”

“No, actually.” Steve brushed his hands on the thighs of his jeans, resisting the urge to sign while also resisting the habit of stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep his fingers from talking automatically. He slowly dragged his hands up and placed them firmly on his hips. “I guess I just wore him out so I encouraged him to take the day off. I am going to have to ask you to be more careful with your equipment around my windows. I know Mr. Pierce would be put out if he had to replace the glass so soon after renovating this side of the building.”

Steve was watching the four of them, he felt confident that the loudest one was his biggest concern, if he decided he was put out by Steve’s _request_ . The two in the back even backed up a half-step when he mentioned Pierce. Those two must be his kids, Steve assumed. The fleeting thought that the glass behind him wasn’t much protection if he got thrown through it made him frown. He dismissed movie thoughts of plate-glass windows shattering so easily. Hopefully the dark look he knew he could muster helped get the point across that he didn’t _want_ to engage in a physical altercation.

“No, _Mr._ Pierce wouldn’t like that. Sure wouldn’t. ‘Course, he’d be pretty angry at some vagrant who skipped out on work after having a disappointing workplace confrontation. Couldn’t prove it wasn’t your gimpy boyfriend, could he?”

Steve didn’t go for the bait. Of course they’d like to plant it on Bucky. “Yeah, it could be proven. You don’t honestly think I’d run a gallery, with pricey pieces of art without _state of the art security_ do you? You even try something like that and try pinning it on _anybody_ who’s not directly involved; it _will_ bite you in the ass. I’m even smart enough to have double backups on all of the video.”

Steve _really_ hoped the shaking he was feeling wasn’t coming out through his words. His personal space was being sorely tested, they had him backed up as close to the windows as he could get without touching the glass, and the guy, who was about four inches taller than Bucky, was leaning into him. Steve could see the pores on his face. He also hoped that Sam wasn’t nearby, because the last thing he wanted right now was somebody else calling them off. They already thought Bucky was his defender, he’d have to find out why that was later too.

“Hey, man,” One of the guys in the back said. “I’m heading over, I need to see how far that slacker got on the tile-work last night.”

Steve seethed. “Yeah, you should go take a look. He stayed late to finish it, so, you know, you guys could screw with him more and call him a slacker.” He looked directly at the guy in front of him. “I hear the flooring is behind schedule due to damaged supplies. You really shouldn’t drop that stuff.”

“You should mind your own business.”

“Yeah, I was actually doing that. You’re the one who _disturbed_ my business.” Steve maintained eye contact. “You’re not related to the owner of the building, and you’re counting on those two to keep you safe. They’re not going to, you know. If you pull one illegal move, against my business, or me, he’s not going to back you or bail you out. I have more than enough to file harassment charges. Pierce wants my rent and your grunt-work. My rent will be here long after your job is completed, so maybe you should take that into consideration.”

Steve was expecting a fist in the eye, to be honest, so when the guy backed down it took everything in him to maintain his posture and not wilt against the glass in relief. He wasn’t a wilting flower dammit, the image pushed a wry smile to Steve’s lips, and he stood firm, watching their retreat.

Steve sighed as they noisily entered the office they were working on. He turned and scrubbed at the scuff on his window, right through the gallery name. Fucking great. He had to get the sign company to come before the showing. Steve sucked a bracing breath in as he went back into what used to be one of his sanctuaries. As recently as two weeks ago.

The chime and flash that signified a visitor made Steve groan. He couldn’t conduct business if he was stressed out every time the door was used. He looked up from the artwork and hardware he’d tried to get back to, to see a genuine client. That _was_ a relief. He didn’t want to go off on Sam just yet about his latest experience, and he really didn’t want them breaking that barrier and coming through his door.

“Hello.” Steve smiled at the woman, she was a buyer he’d dealt with only once before. “It’s good to see you again.”

She held out a well-manicured hand, “Steve.” She smiled. “I hope you can help me.”

He gripped her cool, soft hand firmly. “I hope so too. What are you in the market for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it. It looks like you’re busy.”

“Preparing for a show, you’re welcome to browse those; a lot of things have been temporarily removed.” Steve glanced around. It was sometimes harder, sometimes easier to work with someone who didn’t know what they were looking for. He didn’t know her well enough to determine which it would be. “I can pull some out if you don’t see something here that you like.”

“Hmm,” she pondered the hanging pieces and sculptures. “Something – softer I think. I thought I saw a large piece on a postcard recently, a rainy cityscape? I believe there were cherry blossoms.”

“Yes, I still have that piece.” Steve’s heart tripped a little. That was _his_ painting. The one Bucky had been so enamored by. “It’s in the back, just give me a minute and I’ll bring it out.”

“If it’s no trouble.”

Steve turned to look at her. “No, no trouble at all.” It was exciting to have his art be a draw for a buyer. As self-serving as it felt to put his own art in his gallery, it never failed to surprise him when it sold. “I’ll be right back.”

In the back room, Steve could wallow in the urge to want to kick himself. His excitement over her interest in his art led him to rush back for the piece instead of offering her a drink while she waited. This showing, his neighbors, and the frustration from last night with Bucky were all playing their parts to make him crazy. Of course, as he thought about it, dragging the canvas that dwarfed him out of storage, he wouldn’t change the Bucky portion of the program. Steve saw Sam chatting up Ms… what was her name? Shit he forgot her name. They were laughing at something. Sam was a good businessman and a charmer. God, would Sam save him and give him her name? Steve was confident that Sam would have gotten it from her within the first breaths of the conversation.

“Hey, Sam.” Steve smiled. “Just in time.”

“In time to talk food and art with your lovely client? Yes I am.” Sam grinned his warm, disarming smile.

“Ms…” Steve started, god why would he even try?

“Steve, please, it’s Wanda. We agreed last time, first names only.”

“It’s true, we did.” Steve smiled and blushed. “I’m afraid I’ve had enough shakeups recently that I did forget that.”

“This is it. The piece I wanted to see.” She put her hand out as if to touch the canvas, stopping just a hair away from the peaks of the oil paint. “Do you have time to put it under the lights? The apartment this would go in has LED art lights.”

“Sure, follow me.” Steve gave Sam an apologetic look and carried the art to the corner. “You’re welcome to change the lighting, natural light, what have you.”

“I remember how it works. Who is the artist?”

“This is one of mine,” Steve announced, trying hard to keep pride from the equation. “I have two companion pieces that are oddly sized, tall and narrow.”

“Hmm. That does sound appealing, however, I think this is the one.” Wanda pondered the art, flipping the light switches. “Yes… this one is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so. Did you need it delivered? What about installation?”

“Installation won’t be necessary, but I would need it shipped.” Wanda turned to him. “I really appreciate the offer. When is your next showing?”

“The featured pieces in the gallery will be shown this weekend through Wednesday. Please, tell your friends.”

“I’ll do that.” She pulled a card from her clutch. “Let me know when you’ll be displaying more of your art, too, the mention of those companion pieces is teasing me.”

“After Wednesday, I plan to put a bunch of new stuff up. I might even give more of my own work a spot. I think you’ll enjoy what I have in store for springtime. If you’ll follow me we can take care of the transaction and I can get the shipping details.”

“I look forward to coming back.”

Steve completed the transaction, putting a “sold” sign over the canvas, thanking her for her purchase. He had a bittersweet feeling as he slammed his hands into his pockets and stalked back to the office.

“You look so excited to have made a sale. Do _not_ tell me you undersold yourself.”

“No, I took advantage of her client, don’t worry.” Steve’s smile was brief. “Bucky really liked that piece.”

“So, paint him another one. Tell me, did this Adonis have an apartment that could showcase something that size?”

“No, his apartment _is that size._ ” Steve twitched his lips, fighting a smile. “Okay, you’re right.”

“You had it photographed, get a print, and sign it. Is he the kind of guy who uses thumbtacks? Or would it be better appreciated framed?”

“Cut it out Sam.” Steve’s smile battle was lost. “Okay, I said you’re right.”

“You’re really messed up over this guy, and it’s been two days?”

“Today would be three,” Steve rushed to correct Sam before nodding. “I’m really messed up over him.”

“I’m just giving you crap. If you like him, that’s great. Your dry spell lasted long enough.”

“Like I said this morning, there’s something about him. I _like_ him.”

“That’s good.” Sam laughed. “Lunch should be here any minute. Do you need any help getting ready for the showing while we wait?”

“I should say yes, but I just want a break. I need to make a phone call before I forget though. Those assholes scratched my window sign.”

“Steve, you’ve got enough on them to…” Sam stopped when Steve picked up the phone. One ear, he wasn’t going to waste his breath. He signed the rest of his argument.

Steve cut Sam off with the sign for “enough” as he engaged with the person on the other end of the phone, making Sam laugh. Even if there wasn’t a phone call to be made, Sam could buy any one of those ugly art pieces if he had a dollar for every time Steve told him, “I’ll handle it” or “Sam, let’s not talk about it.”

Sam took care of the lunch delivery when the food came, tipping generously. He brought the bags to the office and set Steve’s in front of him, pulling his own seat toward the desk.

When Steve was off the phone, he opened the sack and peered inside. Sam knew Steve was being extra when he sniffed and pulled back from the bag. “What did you order?”

“Food.” Sam shrugged, opening his sandwich. “You should thank me instead of turning your nose up at it.”

“Thank you for ordering food with my credit card.” Steve rolled his eyes, before busting into a smile. “And for making sure I wasn’t eating alone.”

“You could meet me for lunch. I go at the same time every day. Put a sign in the window and people can deal with it.”

“I could start doing that.” Steve took a bite from his sandwich. “Once this showing’s over, it’ll be easier.”

“You need to eat during the exhibitions even more… never mind. You know all that.” Sam stopped himself. “So tomorrow’s the VIP opening, right? Are you bringing a date?”

With his mouth open, prepared to take a bite, Steve pulled his sandwich away, holding it inches from his face. He closed his mouth and furrowed his brow. “I hadn’t thought of it. I would like to, but I’ll be busy and…”

“I’m sure Nat and I could keep him entertained while you host.” Sam smirked, knowing he was offering a problem and a solution all in one. “I mean, if you trust us.”

“All I can do is ask. I don’t know if he… I’ll ask.” Steve stumbled.

“Don’t come back to me and say I coerced you.” Sam chuckled as Steve clammed up with another bite of sandwich.

With lunch finished, Sam helped Steve with the hardware and hanging the rest of the small pieces. Sam followed Steve’s orders, because, even though he had a decent eye for art, he _knew_ Steve had everything all set in his head.

Steve stood back and surveyed the final details, watching as Sam reached near the exposed ducts above to pull the line that would suspend another row of art silks. “Sam, thank you. I know I’ve been the worst kind of friend, I couldn’t do this without your help.”

“It’s no problem, Steve. Although, next time you have one of these and need to go over the top, you could hire a crew with tall ladders.”

“I did. There was a problem, a scheduling conflict. You know, in addition to the last minute sign repair.”

“You’re gonna want a long vacation after all of the remodelling and this showing.” Sam wiped his hands on the damp towel Steve handed him. “I hate to do this, but I have to get back to the office.”

“Don’t worry about it. You were a lifesaver.”

“Let me save your life again. Invite Barnes before it’s too late, give him time to prepare.”

“If you can’t set me up with someone you and Nat find, you’re gonna push me into this aren’t you?”

“Into liking a guy you already like? Impossible. C’mon Steve, if he doesn’t want to go, he’ll tell you, but you should give him a little warning.”

“It’s tomorrow.”

“You know for a fact he has a suit?” Sam asked, brows raised, his mouth quirked in a smug half-smirk.

“I don’t have a clue. He _does have_ pink t-shirts.” Steve smiled in spite of trying not to. Sam’s knowing smile only made him blush more. “What? I told you I slept over, and I _also_ _told you_ nothing happened. I couldn’t sleep in my suit.”

“I didn’t say a thing.” Sam chuckled. “I’m leaving, just think about it. I promise we’ll both be on our best behavior.”

“Believe that when I see it,” Steve muttered.

“I heard that.” Sam pulled Steve into a quick hug. “Don’t let me pressure you, if it’s too much, it’s too much. Don’t wanna raise your blood pressure.”

“I’ll have you know…” Steve answered into Sam’s neck, before pulling away. “Actually, I’ll have you know I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“I know.” Sam laughed. “I’ll call you after work.”

Steve looked around the gallery after Sam left, deciding to take a break while the sign company worked on his window. One day, he mused, he was going to have his gallery name _etched_ into the glass. He put a “be back” sign on the door, and walked down to the end of the street before pulling out his phone.

 

> He pulled up Bucky’s number, hoping he was recovered somewhat from his hangover, as he pressed ‘send’. He let out a relieved breath when Bucky’s typically friendly voice greeted him. “Stevie! Good! We’re still on speaking terms.”
> 
> “Of course we are, why wouldn’t we be?”
> 
> “Oh, I dunno.” Bucky paused. “I did make quite the fool of myself.”
> 
> “You didn’t. Hey, I didn’t get a chance to properly snoop around through your things.” Steve grinned. “You wouldn’t have a suit would you?”
> 
> “No, you didn’t leave yours behind. We all saw how my clothes fit you.”
> 
> “I - Thanks for that.” Steve rolled his eyes. “I was wondering if you’d like to be my date for the opening tomorrow.”
> 
> “Oh.” Bucky sounded amused, and Steve thought he might have heard Bucky take a deep breath before repeating himself with a much more strained. “Oh.”
> 
> “I mean if that’s not your kind of thing, I get it. I just…”
> 
> “I don’t have a suit.” Steve thought (hoped) _maybe_ Bucky sounded disappointed. “I could dress up a little with what I’ve got, and maybe raid Clint’s closet, but I don’t want to embarrass you.”
> 
> “You wouldn’t embarrass me.” Steve wondered if his incredulity translated properly. “Think it over, if you find something that you’d be comfortable in, let me know. For now I have you down as a ‘yes’, you know for food and drink purposes. If you have to change it to a ‘no’, I’ll just have to come find you afterward, I’ll sneak you a dessert or two.”
> 
> “Okay, I’ll think about it.” Steve thought Bucky sounded decided already, but he’d cross his fingers that Bucky would do as he said.
> 
> “So, now that _that_ is over with, you feelin’ any better?”
> 
> “It was a minor hangover, not the plague.” Bucky’s attempt to brush off the attention wasn’t lost on Steve.
> 
> “I still care.”
> 
> “Sure y’ do,” Bucky mumbled into the phone.
> 
> “If I’m interrupting something…”
> 
> “Nah. I’m just… I’m tryin’ to do two or more things with one hand. Lemme put ya on speaker. If y’ can’t hear me, just say so, k?”
> 
> There was a long pause before Steve heard. “There, hey? Can you hear me now?”
> 
> Steve smiled. “Yeah, so far, so good.”
> 
> “Thanks for the TLC last night and this morning. Not used to that, so watch out, I could _get_ used to it.”
> 
> “You deserve it.” Steve said before he could think.
> 
> “How are the neighbors treatin’ you today?”
> 
> “Fucked up my window sign, the timing stinks, but I got the sign company to put a rush on it, so it won’t be an issue during the showing.”
> 
> “More money out of pocket.” Bucky sighed. “Wanna tell me how it happened?”
> 
> “Maybe over drinks, I’m fully stocked at my place, and I could show you the latest on the comic. Let me know if that’s not the lamest invitation ever and I’ll come pick you up after work.”
> 
> “No.” Steve’s heart sank when Bucky said it so matter-of-factly. “I need to get out, I’ll meet you at the gallery and we can head over. If there’s not a dress code that is.”
> 
> He needed to get a handle on this. He couldn’t let a simple phone conversation make his heart do things it hadn’t done since before surgery. ‘Get a grip Steve.’ “There’s no dress code.” None at all. If they could maybe get to the touching before the alcohol got the better of one of them, and if Bucky would let Steve match him drink for drink this time, there would be no need.
> 
> “So, will you be working late again? Or is closing time okay?”
> 
> “Closing time should be fine, if the sign guys aren’t done yet, you won’t mind waiting?”
> 
> “Course not,” Bucky answered quickly. “I should let you go. I haven’t showered yet, sorry for _that_ visual.”
> 
> ‘Yeah, you should be,’ Steve thought. “Yeah, you might wanna do that,” he said instead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”
> 
> “Steve. I could use the exercise. One train, two stops and a few blocks won’t kill me.”
> 
> “Just say it, ‘ _what do you think I did before you came along?_ ’ I’m sorry, Buck.”
> 
> “Don’t put words in my mouth. I wasn’t thinking any such thing.” Bucky grumbled. “Sorry, it’s been a kinda shitty day and the walk will do me good. I’m gonna let you go.”
> 
> “Buck?”
> 
> “Yeah, Steve?”
> 
> Steve hesitated, if Bucky had wanted to elaborate on his _shitty day_ he would have. ‘Don’t be nosy, that didn’t win you any bonus points last time.’ “Nothin’. See you in a while.”
> 
> “You sure?”
> 
> “Yeah, I’ll see you when you get here.”
> 
> “Well, alright then.” Bucky was clearly onto his horrible attempt to abandon the subject, but thankfully didn’t push him to elaborate. “Later.”
> 
> “Yeah.” Steve looked at his shoes, tan and white wingtips, smiling reluctantly as he scratched his neck, ‘you’re so fucking awkward’ he admonished himself. “Later, Buck.”

He headed back toward the gallery, tucking his phone into his pocket as he walked. Maybe Bucky’s shitty day was thanks to him and that’s why he didn’t say, and why he snarked at him about putting words in his mouth. Not that he wasn’t guilty of doing so, but there hadn’t been a precedence for Bucky to shut him up before.

Steve spent the following hour-and-a-half brooding instead of taking care of paperwork. He managed to make a few sales without being too distracted from actual, physical clients by his misstep with Bucky. He had seen the third cutomer out the door and was heading to the office when the door chimed again. Steve forced his shoulders back before turning around to greet the last minute client at door. His back and shoulders hurt more from the afternoon’s forced good posture, than his face did from the forced smiles, but only barely.

He turned with a practiced _customer smile_ and it fell apart to something soft and stupid when he saw Bucky standing in the doorway.

“Hi.” Bucky grinned. The response threw Steve off, he wasn’t expecting a warm greeting, he’d been setting himself up for a dressing down that was not coming. “Why the frown?”

Steve looked from Bucky’s lips to his eyes. “Nothin’ it’s just been one of those days. Good news is, for better or worse, the place is ready for tomorrow’s invasion of caterers and hopefully deep-pocketed art connoisseurs.”

“You must be relieved.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s cheek. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Hopefully that skews the mood for the day.”

Steve breathed Bucky in, melting into him. Miraculously (or maybe it was just because Bucky was solid where Steve was slim), he didn’t knock Bucky off balance. Bucky’s arm came around Steve’s shoulders, and Steve’s encircled Bucky’s neck. He took from Bucky as much as Bucky would give, moaning plaintively when Bucky’s lips left his.

“You okay, Steve?”

“That helped.” Steve moved to step back, but was restrained by the strength in Bucky’s arm. “I’m better now, Buck.”

Bucky popped a kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose, smiling, but Steve could tell he was just biding his time. “Well, if you say so. I was about to ask if you needed to go to the ER.”

“Seriously?” Steve stepped back when Bucky’s arm loosened. Bucky’s fingers dug into Steve’s neck, rubbing. “I need a vacation, that’s all. The duration of those fools next door. Maybe an extra week afterward.”

“Too bad you’re too busy.” Bucky’s smile was endearing. “What did they do this time? It’s more than the window sign, isn’t it? Did they hurt you? You don’t seem like you’re quite yourself.”

“No, they didn’t hurt me. Talking shit about…” Steve reached up to his neck, gripping Bucky’s wrist, he removed it and kissed his knuckles. “We should head out, give me a second to close up huh?”

.-.

Bucky watched Steve retreat to the office. “Talking shit about me,” Bucky called after Steve, unsure whether he could hear him or not. “You can say it.” Bucky didn’t want to be caught in a position where he’d have to fight them, but he didn’t like that they were still bothering Steve. _More actively_ bothering Steve, getting too close. Destruction of property was definitely escalating the harassment.

Steve stepped back out of the office. “Yeah, about you. Us. I’m pretty sure the big guy hates me a lot more after today.”

Bucky’s rage wasn’t an easy thing to keep down, but he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Care to tell me about it on the way to the parking garage?”

Bucky watched Steve walk past him again, as he went about his final closing routine. The ‘is he gonna answer me’ thing was weird, but he wasn’t in the position or mood to press Steve for answers. Bucky followed Steve out the door, thinking about what he might say next, in case Steve wasn’t inclined to talk about it.

The walk was as quiet as Bucky feared it would be. Steve’s hands were stuffed in his jacket pocket, so Bucky tucked his hand around Steve’s arm, not gripping, just a light touch. It wasn’t shrugged away, and Steve’s eyes met his from behind tortoise-shell frames and thick lenses.

Steve stopped and looked over his shoulder before blowing out an agonized breath. “They brought it onto my turf, coming at me out of nowhere, scared the shit out of me.”

“You really downplayed that.” Bucky looked Steve over, searching for injuries or something. “You okay?”

“I stood up for myself, they didn’t touch me. I -- They called you names and god, I wanted to go off on them.”

“Defending my honor? Already?” Bucky smiled, in spite of the flash of pain he felt at being the cause of Steve’s unease. “Of course you stood up for yourself, but I don’t want you getting bashed into the window for my honor, Steve.”

“Fuck that. I’m not going to -- you said you had a shitty day, your turn.”

“Not going to what?” Bucky stopped, standing with his hand on his hip, in his mind both hands really, funny how that worked sometimes.

“Not gonna let them tear at you when you’re not around to speak up. I don’t care what they do to me, it wasn’t self-preservation.”

“Should be.” Bucky shrugged. “Words I don’t even hear aren’t worth getting yourself hurt over, and that property damage is not cool, they’re escalating.”

“You’re right.” Steve closed the distance between them, Bucky couldn’t resist slipping his arm around Steve’s waist. “Your turn.”

Bucky buried his head in Steve’s neck for a brief moment, inhaling the warm fragrance he’d come to associate with Steve. “Or not?”

“You don’t wanna talk about it, it’s fine.”

“But you’ve been open about everything, and it’s one-sided for me to let you be.”

“I just complained about a few jackasses.” Steve chuckled, bringing one hand to the back of Bucky’s neck. “How long were you sick?”

“Listen to you, coddling me over a self-induced hangover.” Bucky stood straight, rubbing Steve’s back before he stepped aside and retook Steve’s arm in his. “I slept half the day away, woke up worse than when you left.”

“We’re a fine pair.” Steve started walking again. “You’re sure you’re up for tonight?”

“Yes.” Bucky rolled his eyes and tugged Steve toward the parking structure. “Come on. If we don’t go now, you’ll ask me that again.”


	8. Chapter 8

On the ride to Steve’s place, they fell into their usual comfortable quiet. Bucky’s hand slid under the hem of Steve’s shirt and he rested his arm across Steve’s waist tracing the line of Steve’s trouser waistband with his thumb. He enjoyed the way Steve’s deceptively hidden muscles moved every so often when his thumb skimmed beneath the fabric.

Bucky wondered about sliding his hand further down, not wanting to startle Steve into a motorcycle wreck by acting on the fantasy. But oh what a fantasy!

Bucky buried his head between Steve’s shoulder blades, groaning when his body responded to the images of Steve reclining across the tank of the bike, with his pants open, riding low on his hips, and the shirt he was wearing today unzipped. Who said he could wear a shirt that zipped closed anyway? He could see it clearly, golden hair falling away from Steve’s face, his lips pink, and his cheeks a half-shade less so. Bucky wanted to see, wished he could remember, how Steve’s eyes looked when darkened with desire.

There was no way Steve _didn’t_ know about his arousal, his firm little ass snug against Bucky’s crotch like it was. There was a time when Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to capitalize on the situation, but insecurity held him back. A tap on Bucky’s thigh brought his head up. Steve signed “are you okay?” and Bucky just laughed. Hell no, he wasn’t okay, but “Yeah.”

The mischief behind the brief smile on Steve’s face made Bucky laugh again. They turned the corner to a neatly kept neighborhood and Steve pulled in behind a historic limestone structure with gingerbread trim. When Steve killed the engine and dropped the kickstand, Bucky sat back. He watched Steve dismount and reached for him. Gripping the hem of his shirt and his jacket, Bucky pulled Steve against his thigh, and kissed him. Steve laughed into the kiss, grabbing Bucky’s neck. He pressed his body against Bucky’s left side, Steve nipped Bucky’s lip, dragging gently before grinning and letting go. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head, and dismounted the bike, tugging on Steve’s hem. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t seem that way.” Steve rubbed the heel of his hand in the exact spot on Bucky’s back where his head had rested on Steve’s for the better part of the drive.

“Yeah.” Bucky released Steve’s shirt hem and hooked his arm across his shoulders. “Either way, you promised a guy a drink.”

Steve led the way to the back door of his home, which opened into the kitchen. “Drinks, food, come on, make yourself comfortable.”

Bucky looked around at the open kitchen with its vintage cabinets and wood trimmed window out onto the back patio. He sat on the modern wooden barstool with a back cut out in a shape resembling a ginko leaf. “Nice digs.”

“Mama loved this kitchen. So much baking.” Steve smiled tenderly. “Not anymore, sadly. I can cook a decent breakfast, but that’s about it.”

“In addition to bread and sweet rolls, if you like cupcakes or brownies, I’m your guy.”

“I’m making a note of that.” Steve pulled two beer bottles from the refrigerator. “Snooty beer?”

“Yes, please.” Bucky’s fingers lingered over Steve’s on the bottle before he took it. “Twist please?”

Steve twisted the cap from the bottle, ready to apologize for the slight.

“Thank you.” Bucky lifted his bottle in a mock toast before Steve could force an apology out. “Did you do the wood trim restoration?”

“Oh, god no.” Steve answered, washing his hands at the sink under the window. “I had it done while I was in LA for some comic-related meetings. I use enough noxious materials, but that stuff woulda put me in the hospital.”

“Can’t have that.” Bucky watched as Steve played host, pulling food from the refrigerator and stacking things on the counter in front of Bucky. “You asked about my day. After I ate - thank you by the way - I slept until a nightmare woke me and then I had to push through a panic attack. That gave me a bigger headache than the hangover so I went back to bed. I’m afraid I didn’t make that phone call.”

“Well, tomorrow’s another day.” Steve looked up from slicing tomatoes. “I hope sandwiches are okay. Long day and I’m hungry. Sorry it’s not homemade bread.”

“Don’t be. Sandwiches are perfect.”

“I can toast them?”

“Steve, stop.” Bucky protested, almost laughing. “Just sandwiches. I can make my own even, so you can sit down after working all day.”

“No. Not tonight. It’s a date. Remember? No matter how poorly planned and executed?”

“You mean like last night’s execution?” Bucky frowned, pulling the bread across the small island. He then reached for the condiments, sweeping them away from Steve with a smug look. “It’s still a date. I’m just being a helpful, polite guest. Play your cards right, I’ll even help wash up when we’re through.”

“Now you’re pushing it.” Steve’s mouth curled up on just one side. Bucky fixated on his mouth and had to force himself to look away, straight into Steve’s eyes.

“Hey, how’s this for dinner conversation?” Bucky shifted on the bar stool, leaning against the island. “ _So, what are you into_?”

“Into? Oh, you mean…”

Bucky’s tongue tickled the underside of his top lip before dragging across his teeth, with a smile and a naughty quirk of his eyebrow. “Yeah, you remember, it was an interesting ride over here.” Bucky kept the ‘you blush real pretty, Steve.’ to himself, but only just. He’d wait until he had Steve’s shirt unzipped - and proof that the blush went beyond Steve’s slender throat - before confessing that aloud.

Steve’s smile widened with the reminder, and the blush that Bucky wasn’t mentioning indeed crept along Steve’s neck. “I’m open. Uh, I mean…”

Bucky giggled at Steve’s overcorrection. “I gotcha.” He was finally able to say.

“You?” In spite of the blush, Steve appeared much more comfortable with the discussion than Bucky felt.

It had been a long time since he’d _discussed_ sex. Bucky hadn’t made wise choices in his recent attempts. “I’m…” Bucky took a swig from his beer. “Not sure, to be honest.”

“Well.” Steve’s smile faltered.

Bucky wished he’d never brought it up, and regretted being honest. When Steve spoke again, Bucky realised that something on his face must have given him away.

“I hope we can discover it together. You’ll continue your honesty, I hope?”

The beer bottle nearly slipped from Bucky’s fingers, he set it on the counter gracelessly and wiped his hand on his jeans. “I can’t seem to be anything but honest around you.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Steve asked with his mouth full of sandwich.

Bucky smiled at the image, stacking his turkey and cheese on the artisan bread. “It’s just novel for me.”

“Can I ask why?” Steve set the sandwich down on his plate and wiped his fingers with a kitchen towel. Bucky wished he wouldn’t watch him so avidly, but he guessed he was just still getting used to being noticed.

“I’ve mentioned my recent adventures in dating?”

“Only briefly.” Steve walked around the island and stood behind Bucky, his fingers digging into Bucky’s neck and shoulder muscles felt strong and gentle. Bucky rolled his head back and rested it on Steve’s chest. “You were misused, I assume.”

“I wasn’t very picky.” Bucky sighed, rolling his head forward when Steve prompted him. “Even more honesty for you, I don’t know why you gave me the time of day.”

“You brought coffee. It’s the nectar of the gods, so you must have been sent by them.” Steve’s lips grazed the back of Bucky’s neck. “Who am I to turn away a gift borne by the messenger of the gods?”

“A hack comic writer, obviously.” Bucky felt a crush of emotions; denial, terror, and joy mingled to tighten his chest and prick his eyes with tears. He straightened up, turning a practiced smile on Steve.

“Obviously.” Steve put his hand on the back of Bucky’s head and pushed playfully. “Finish your sandwich and _then_ you can tell me just how hack you think I am with the latest issue.”

“Oh, right.” Bucky smiled in earnest. “It’s _that date_. I shoulda dressed for the occasion.”

“Were you gonna cosplay for me?”

“You into that, Stevie?” Bucky crinkled his nose before taking the last bite of his sandwich.

Steve turned around before he was able to completely mask his sly grin.

Bucky laughed and grabbed Steve’s shirt from behind before he could round the island, he pulled him back and wrapped his arm around Steve’s middle, kissing the side of his neck. “You’d like that. I’m getting ideas.”

“I do like that.” Steve closed his fingers over Bucky’s arm. “You don’t mind if I go change out of my work clothes?”

“I could... just help you out of them.” Bucky teased with a nip to Steve’s collar. “Right here in the kitchen.”

“Tempting.” Steve turned in Bucky’s hold, his voice just shy of a groan. “I was thinking more casual, less exposed. For now.”

“Gonna make a gentleman out of me?” Bucky’s arm dropped to Steve’s hip, brushing the fine weave of his trouser fabric before he let go entirely to take a swig from his beer.

“Not looking to change you at all. Just my clothes.” Steve backed out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

Bucky swiveled in his stool to watch Steve’s retreat. He was still flooded with conflicting emotions, arousal (was that an emotion or an affliction?), insecurity (his scarred body was hard to look at), and anticipation. _'Knock it off,'_ Bucky berated himself, _'Stop coming onto him if you can’t hack it.'_

Bucky looked beyond the archway into the next room, the historic lines of the place played with the modern furnishings. It was very _Steve_. Steve dressed in a similar fashion; he talked, ate, and existed in just such a juxtaposition.

Resisting the urge to actively snoop, Bucky took note of the colors Steve used to warm the otherwise white rooms. Sunny yellow in the kitchen made Bucky think of Becca. There were blues and purples in pillows and soft throws spread across the sofa in the living room, and he could see what looked like a painting or print of space on the large wall in the narrow living room. He saw Steve coming down the stairs in a pair of lounge pants, even they were colorful, white to blue ombre. His t-shirt was from _Warriors and Assassins_ , which made Bucky chuckle.

“What?” Steve gave the best _affronted_ tone and look he could muster.

“You went all out,” Bucky laughed. “How can you make pajama pants look fashionable?”

“It’s just one of my talents. I have a present for you.” Steve held out a t-shirt, identical to the one he was wearing.

“Souvenir of my visit?” Bucky asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You mentioned dressing for the occasion.” Steve placed the shirt in Bucky’s hand on his way around the kitchen island to start putting sandwich ingredients away. “I’m sorry, I don’t typically have dates over, I didn’t think this through, and to make things even more awkward, background music would just get in the way of conversation.”

“Don’t apologize, I’m flattered to be more of an exception than the rule. DIY sandwiches were delicious, and I didn’t expect a gift!”

“As soon as I get this food put away, we can go sit in the living room and talk.” Steve picked up his phone and fiddled with an app. “Why don’t you go get comfortable?”

Bucky figured that was better than what was going through his head. He just wanted to cross the kitchen, push those glasses up and kiss him. He wanted to pull them gently from Steve’s face and explore the depths of his blue and green eyes. “Sure,” Bucky said instead. “If you’re sure I can’t help somehow?”

“I’m sure.” Steve looked up, peering over the rim of the tortoiseshell frames. “Thanks for the offer though.”

Bucky retreated into the living room, he sat on the edge of the sofa cushion looking around, there were sculptures, as one would expect in a gallery owner’s home, but they were nerdy. A lucite figure caught Bucky’s eye. He stood up and walked across the plush sculpted, blue and purple area rug to get a closer look at the figure nestled among others pieces of varying heights on the fireplace mantel.

“Steve, this figure on your fireplace mantel, is that _Oktober_ from _Assassins_? The clear one?”

“Yeah, isn’t she beautiful?” Steve came through the archway bearing a tray with glasses, bottles, and a bucket of ice. “Sam and Nat introduced me to an acrylic artist, I had one made for me and one for Natasha.” He set the tray down on the coffee table before settling comfortably on the dove-gray sofa.

“She’s gorgeous! Wow, two of a kind, any time either of you decided you wanted to sell one, collectors would eat that up. You must know that though, being in the business of collectibles _and_ art.”

“Yeah, I suppose that could be something to do in the future. I’m far too attached to it though. So, what would you like to drink? I wasn’t sure if you’d want to stick to beer or go big.”

“I don’t know. You’ll be honorable again if I get tipsy,” Bucky pouted before unleashing a smile-eyebrow waggle combo that made Steve chuckle as he continued. “Can’t have any of that now, can we?”

“How about we come to an agreement before we proceed to our second beers?” Steve reached for a bottle on the table. “We both want to go _beyond_ kissing and petting tonight, right?”

“Yes.” Bucky leaned against the fireplace wall, bracing himself, when Steve’s suggestion affected him stronger than he’d expected - like a kick in the gut. “Jesus, yes.”

“Okay,” Steve smirked at Bucky’s reaction. “If you change your mind when we’re both blotto, you have say so and I’ll respect that. If I change my mind, same goes. Is that cool?”

“One of these days you’ll tell me why this is so important?”

“Yeah. Someday.” Steve’s smile was indulgent, if a little strained.

“You’ve got a deal.” Bucky shrugged before pushing off the wall. “I think I’ll stick with beer for this round.”

Bucky crossed the space, grabbing a beer from the table. He remained mindful of the newness of everything happening between them, which just barely helped him resist the urge to crawl on top of Steve right where he sat, and devour him. That’s not to say that he sat in the opposite corner of the sofa this time, instead he sat close enough that when he angled to face Steve, their legs touched.

“Is everything ready for your showing? The gallery looked pretty amazing.”

“If not, I hope nobody notices.” Steve stroked his chin pensively. “I sold that big piece you liked. I have to get it packaged up for delivery, but it’s out of the way for now.”

“That’s great! I’ll bet that’s a great feeling.”

“It’s a mix of astonishment and worry that I’m being self-serving. For the longest time I didn’t put my own art up, when I did, I was convinced that it would just sit there, taunting me. The first sale I made on my own work was so much more baffling to me than getting this comic gig had been.”

“But you’re an amazing artist.” Bucky earnestly wanted to make that worry simply vanish, but he knew that was Steve’s internal struggle. Steve’s uncomfortable laugh caused Bucky to change the subject ever-so-slightly. “So, I think I found something to wear… to the opening... if the invitation’s still open that is.”

“Oh? It is - absolutely. I’m glad that worked out.” Steve smiled. “I’ll apologize in advance for Sam and Nat. They’re my best friends, but…”

“Their failures in trying to set you up have them baffled, so they’re gonna dissect everything about me to figure out where they went wrong, and still try to figure out if I measure up to their choices for you. Am I close?”

“Yeah.” Steve laughed. “More than close. I’d say right on the nose.”

“What would they think if they saw me wearing mismatched stuff? I have this vest and shirt, Clint has these crazy deep raspberry pants and a pretty amazing leather blazer.”

Steve looked at Bucky, looked him up and down to be specific, causing Bucky to flush. Bucky tried to hide it behind a long pull on the beer bottle.

“You know?” Steve’s hand landed on Bucky’s knee. “That sounds perfect, in fact, I think you might give Sam a run for his money, fashion wise. Are you ready for the tour?”

“ _Assassins’_ HQ.” Bucky tried to sound normal. He was sitting with Steve’s warm, long fingers on his leg, he had hazy memories of Steve’s strong, tender touch from the night before. In addition to all of that, he was a huge fan of this man’s comic. He knew every bit of every story, had read about inspiration behind each character, and identified with the Warrior to the point that Clint asked him if it was healthy. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask his therapist that question yet. “Yeah, sure.”

.-.

Steve couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Bucky’s mind. This wasn’t the fanboy he’d encountered on their first date, but then again, Bucky had reined that in pretty quickly even that night, and they _were_ more familiar with one another by now. He squeezed Bucky’s knee and pushed up from the couch. “Okay. This--” he gestured dramatically, “-- is the living room.”

Bucky looked at him for a second before laughing. “I figured that part out.”

“Yeah, that _was_ obvious. Studio’s upstairs, follow me.” Steve offered Bucky a hand up.

Bucky’s hand clasped over Steve’s hand and wrist, firm and gentle. His skin was smooth, not calloused from his work, then Steve remembered he used work gloves. Before turning toward the stairs, he pulled Bucky closer. Steve looked up at Bucky, his gaze wandered slowly from his pink lips to his stormy eyes and back.

Bucky’s teeth grazed his lower lip, deepening the color and plumping it just enough to entice Steve to stretch the distance and claim it. He kissed Bucky and Bucky returned his efforts, shamelessly plunging his tongue between Steve’s lips.

Steve had kissed his fair share of people, and he’d hoped he was at least acceptable himself, but he was certain he’d never been kissed by someone as amazing at it as Bucky was. His fingers linked with Bucky’s and his free hand gripped Bucky’s neck, moving slowly up through his hair. He cupped Bucky’s head as their kisses softened and they each slowly pulled back.

“Okay, so…” Steve licked his lips with a slight grin pulling at them. “I hope the tour’s worth the price of admission.”

Bucky pulled his hand from Steve’s and placed it on Steve’s chest. The smile on Bucky’s face was tender and the blush was endearing. His hand slowly moved up to Steve’s neck and his fingers spread over Steve’s jaw and cheek. “I don’t want to shortchange you.” He kissed Steve again. His kisses were warm and hoppy from the beer, yet still amazing.

“No worries there.” Steve smiled against Bucky’s mouth before reluctantly pulling away.

“You said upstairs.” Bucky grinned, letting his hand slide down Steve’s neck and shoulder. “You also said I should follow you.”

“So I did.” Steve tossed his head and rolled his eyes, wondering if he should add, ‘ _and we’re definitely not going to detour to my bedroom. Yet._ ’ Steve turned, taking Bucky’s hand in his as he did, and led him up the stairs. “This one’s the bedroom, and this… is my studio. I hope it’s not a huge letdown.”

“I’m not here for the studio, or the comic.” Bucky pulled on Steve’s arm to stop him. “I’m here for you, the rest is just a bonus.”

“Is this you not shortchanging me?”

“Steve.” Bucky’s exasperation was plain to see in the look he gave Steve just before it dissolved into a smile. “Oh, Steve.”

“What? That was a really winning line and I just…” Steve stepped toward Bucky, putting his arms around Bucky’s waist. “I really liked hearing it.”

“You’re either very refreshing or incredibly…” Bucky stopped, blowing a strand of hair from his face as he stepped back from Steve. “Come on.”

“Incredibly what?” Steve didn’t think he could handle it if Bucky shut down on him, and that was what he was afraid was happening right now.

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Forget I said that. I’m not letting that particular beast ruin a good thing.”

“I’m curious.” Steve stepped into the studio and turned the lights on. “I have to admit, what I might be - other than refreshing - makes me very curious. Will you tell me someday?”

“Maybe,” Bucky shrugged. He followed Steve into the room. “Depends on whether or not you prove to be refreshing.”

“You don’t believe I’m being genuine.” Steve guessed.

“How?” Bucky looked from Steve, around the room, as though it held answers.

“Something you said last night. Listen, I like you. I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass -- unless you like that sort of thing?”

“Stevie…” Bucky grinned before busting up with a belly laugh. “Oh God. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. Why the uncertainty?”

“Bad choices, remember?” Bucky didn’t look at Steve, instead he was focused on his own hand, and was clearly not going to elaborate.

“Right.” Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, steering him to the art table. “Well, I hope I’m not a bad choice, and if I am, at least you can say you saw the last issue of this run of _Warriors and Assassin_ s on the drawing table.”

“Hey Steve? Can we go back to the point where you made me laugh, except I didn’t make you feel shitty?”

“Depends.” Steve’s fingers tightened slightly in reassurance on Bucky’s shoulder. “Was that the point where we were kissing?”

“Sap.” Bucky smiled indulgently before leaning in for a kiss. “Of course that’s what I meant.”

“Okay then.” Steve’s grin was a little wicked. “Since we did that part already, wanna see the stuff?”

“Is that how you’re gonna be?” Bucky groaned teasingly “C’mon one little reset-button-kiss.”

Steve swiveled his drafting chair so the seat faced Bucky. “Sit.”

Bucky complied, pulling Steve in front of him. “So this is the power seat huh?”

Steve was pinned by the hips between Bucky’s knees, and the idea of climbing on top of Bucky in the chair presented itself vividly in Steve’s mind. He set the thoughts aside for now, and let Bucky take the lead. “Yeah, the power seat.”

Bucky traced the edge of Steve’s lower lip with his thumb. “When you mentioned showing me the studio, I thought it was a goal to reach, and sure, once I’m done bragging about what amazing kisses these lips are capable of, maybe I’ll be able to freak out about seeing my favorite thing in the creative process.”

With a mind that was muddled from the sweet words he was hearing, Steve wasn’t entirely aware of being pulled even closer to Bucky until Bucky’s legs wrapped around him. Before he could register what that meant, he was drowning in Bucky’s kiss.

.-.

Bucky leaned into Steve, wrapping his arm around his neck, savoring his lips and the moans that escaped. He tried to pace himself, wanting to strip Steve and savor more than just kisses. “I was right, there’s gonna be a lot of bragging about your kisses.”

Steve pulled away, far enough for Bucky to get a good look at his angular face. His eyes were half closed and shrouded by long, lush lashes. His cheekbones were highlighted with the attractive pink blush that Bucky was becoming accustomed to. Bucky was reminded of his earlier curiosity about the depths of Steve’s blushes, and glanced down to the round neckline of Steve’s t-shirt.

He was pleased to be right - again - about the places that blush followed. His fingers followed the warm, pink blush along Steve’s neck and over his collarbone. Before he could think, Bucky dipped his head to place a soft kiss on the prominent feature that had fascinated him since the day of their meeting.

Steve’s soft intake of air was the only sound besides Bucky’s soft kissing noises and the occasional squeak of the chair. Steve’s fingers tightened on Bucky’s arms, close to the end of his stump and Bucky only slightly cringed, expecting rejection the moment Steve was reminded of his shortcoming. Steve’s only reaction was to tilt his head, giving Bucky full access to the length of his slender neck.

Steve’s hands slid over Bucky’s shoulders, up through his hair. Bucky marked Steve’s neck, drawing Steve’s moans to the surface with the heat and color that pooled in several spots. Steve ground his hips against Bucky’s crotch before his hands moved away from Bucky’s hair to push at Bucky’s legs, which held him like a vice. Bucky relaxed his legs, letting one foot drop to the footrest. He hooked his heel on the rail as Steve climbed onto the chair, straddling Bucky’s thighs.

Bucky groaned into Steve’s mouth as Steve settled onto his thighs, kissing him roughly. It wasn’t easy pinning Steve’s hips with just the one hand, but he made the effort when Steve resumed grinding against his growing arousal. He found it easier to still him with his hand on the small of Steve’s back. “Steve.” Bucky barely heard his own voice, the plea was so weak. “Fuck,” Bucky groaned against Steve’s mouth. “Your fucking tongue.”

“You say something?” Steve teased, peppering kisses along the corner of Bucky’s mouth, denying him the tongue.

Bucky grinned up at Steve, licking his lips in invitation. “You heard me.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” Steve smiled back down at Bucky, his hair was out of place and made him look slightly vulnerable and wild at the same time.

Bucky reached to push the lock from Steve’s forehead, grazing his hearing aid accidentally. When Steve reached up Bucky apologized, heat searing his face. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s smile didn’t fade as he removed the device and set it on the drafting table. “No worries, just keep kissing me, we weren’t talking anyway.” To emphasize their current activity, Steve wriggled against Bucky’s much more advanced erection.

Bucky groaned and Steve laughed.

“You heard that?” Bucky asked, making sure Steve could read his lips.

“No, I felt it through my entire body though.” Steve quirked his eyebrow at Bucky. “Is this gonna happen then?”

“Hell yes.” Bucky dragged his hand down the front of Steve’s shirt to the drawstring on his pants.

“The tour?”

“Later.” Bucky laughed.

Steve pulled Bucky’s hand away, kissing his knuckles as he crawled down from the chair, “In here? Or the bedroom?” he managed between kisses. He backed away from Bucky, toward the door. “Either way, I gotta grab some lube. I don’t usually have a use for it in here.”

Bucky laughed, feeling lightheaded, and followed Steve to the door. “It’s a shame.”

“Yeah? Well maybe next time.” Steve reached behind him for the doorknob, and Bucky found it first, backing Steve up to the door frame, claiming his lips in another dirty kiss as he turned the knob. He opened the door and Steve stumbled back.

Bucky stopped Steve from reeling backward or falling, pulling Steve up against him, burying his face in Steve’s throat. “Sorry, my bad,” he apologized halfheartedly while nibbling at the spot that throbbed beneath his lps.

“Whatever you just said--” Steve pulled Bucky’s head away by a fistful of hair, to look into his eyes with a mischievous smirk, “--I didn’t hear you.”

“Sorry.” Bucky licked his lips, standing upright, before hooking his arm around Steve’s neck. “You said the bedroom was this way?”

“You’re a jerk.” Steve gripped Bucky’s t-shirt at the waistband and propelled him toward the bedroom doorway. Once inside the bedroom, Steve placed his palms beneath Bucky’s t-shirt.

Bucky’s muscles constricted. “Can you -- ” Bucky breathed. “Can we -- um, can I leave the shirt on?”

Steve’s fingers lightly stroked Bucky’s abs. “We could, if you really want to?” It was a cautious question that offered Bucky a chance to consider his choices. “Bucky, you have to know…” Steve shook his head, his tongue darting across his bottom lip before he continued. “I don’t care how your skin healed. It did, and because of that, you’re here with me now.”

Steve’s fingers were achingly close to the edge of his tangled scarring, and Bucky didn’t want this man, this artist - a creator of beauty - to be jarred by his appearance. He couldn’t stand the idea of hearing the likes of _"Jesus, what the hell happened to you?'_ uttered in disgust by Steve. Yet, somehow he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t feel the light touches, but he watched as Steve’s hand moved higher beneath his shirt. Bucky looked away to see Steve watching him. Steve smiled when their eyes met, he then kissed Bucky, spreading his hands out around Bucky’s torso, pulling him closer.

“Let me look at you, Bucky?” it was the softest plea, even if the volume of Steve’s voice was slightly elevated, as it had been since he’d removed the hearing aid.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather just _get on with it_ , than gape at me?” Bucky felt the moment he always dreaded was about to derail everything and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He’d give Steve anything. That realization felt like a stone in his gut.

“It’s okay.” Steve moved to withdraw his hands from beneath Bucky’s shirt and Bucky almost stopped him. His hesitation gave Steve the chance to pull his hands clear of the t-shirt, and swiftly tug his own shirt off.

Bucky looked at Steve’s slender, sinewy frame with that ‘zipper’ scar Steve had confided he was self-conscious of. Nothing compared to what was etched on the side of Bucky’s torso, yet the words ‘I don’t care how your skin healed’ led Bucky’s fingers to the white line. “Close your eyes,” Bucky murmured. He was surprised when Steve complied without a second thought, and mesmerized by the lush spread of lashes on Steve’s cheeks.

When Steve looked to be opening his eyes, Bucky hurriedly wrangled the t-shirt over his head and dropped it at their feet. He touched Steve’s cheek gingerly, to let him know it was okay to open them again. Steve’s gaze met Bucky’s right off, and he didn’t look away, letting his fingers stroke Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky could feel just a little of the movement as Steve’s fingers traced over those scars. Bucky’s lower lip quivered in anxious anticipation.

Steve looked from Bucky’s face to his neck, kissing the undisturbed skin there. Bucky closed one eye nervously watching as Steve looked at his exposed shoulder and arm.

“Oh man, seriously?” Steve asked, his eyes darted from the scars to Bucky’s face. “Tangled in thorns, huh?” Steve bit his lip waiting to see if he’d screwed everything up.

Bucky remembered his ‘struck by lightning’ comment from their first date and the anxious, twisted grimace on his face softened. His eyes burned with tears as a nervous laugh escaped. “I wish.”

Steve continued exploring the scars along Bucky’s side, softly stroking the damaged skin as he kissed Bucky’s nervous laughter away and backed him toward the bed. “I sure am glad you let me see. Even with the war’s crazy artwork, your body’s a masterpiece.”

Bucky followed blindly, stepping backward with tiny steps, gripping Steve’s waistband and returning Steve’s kisses. He was guided by the waist for the the last few steps, with Steve’s hands gripping his sides, steering him. Bucky sat as soon as the mattress grazed his thighs. He was bowled over as Steve crawled over him, kissing and biting Bucky’s neck.

“Steve,” Bucky breathed, pushing Steve’s shoulder to get his attention. “I need to look at you.”

Steve sat back on Bucky’s thighs, smiling and tracing the lines of Bucky’s abs with long, slender fingers. “You okay?”

“I haven’t scared you away, and you’re not ordering me ‘ass up’ so you don’t have to look at me to fuck me, so yeah.” Bucky reached for Steve, drawing his hand down Steve’s sternum and over his navel.

Bucky didn’t miss the fleeting look of pity on Steve’s face. It made him wince before he considered he could be making more out of it than it needed to be. He was distracted from those thoughts when Steve leaned forward and claimed his lips again.

“I can’t stop looking at you, why would I want you to hide? I know.” Steve nipped at Bucky’s bottom lip. “I know, ‘ _bad choices_ ’. So, you wanna do this or what?”

“God yes.” Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth. He slipped his hand between the fine cotton of Steve’s pants and his warm, smooth skin, giving Steve’s shaft a firm stroke.

With a groan, Steve sat back on his heels. Still straddling Bucky’s thighs, he pushed the waistband of his own pants down over his hips before opening Bucky’s jeans. He arched his back, and sighed “Bucky…” Bucky kept a slow pace, watching Steve’s face, beautifully painted by the soft lighting and the rush of color high on his cheekbones. Bucky licked his lips as he looked at Steve’s softly opened mouth, and smiled up at him.

“You said lube.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows. He watched Steve twist to reach the drawer, he wanted to lick every inch of exposed skin. When Steve turned back, he plopped the tube onto Bucky’s belly with a soft thwap, and tore a condom wrapper open with his teeth.

Bucky watched, licking his lips, as Steve rolled the condom on. He felt around his middle for the lube and with his thumb, he snapped the cap open, holding it out for Steve. Steve’s fingers brushed Bucky’s as he took the tube. The squishy sound as Steve squeezed out a shiny dollop of the slick stuff brought a giggle to the surface for Bucky. He nipped at his lip to rein it in training his eyes on Steve’s hand as he smoothed his fingers over his own cock and Bucky’s fingers. They stroked Steve in tandem and Steve leaned over Bucky to give him dirty kisses.

“You -- need --” Steve said between sloppy kisses as he moved his slicked fingers to shove at Bucky’s jeans, “--to lift your ass.

Letting go of Steve’s cock, Bucky hiked his hips, letting Steve drag the rough denim over his cheeks. “If I’m ever actually smooth, you might die of shock.” Bucky chuckled as Steve shimmied off the bed tugging the tight jeans down over his thighs.

“How do you get these on with one hand?”

“Typically there’s no lube involved.”

“I’m surprised, you mean you don’t need it to get them over these thighs?” Steve flicked a finger along Bucky’s inner thigh as the pants fell to the floor.

Bucky’s laugh turned to a groan as Steve’s fingers danced higher on his thigh before grazing and cupping his balls. Steve leaned forward, kissing the scars that trailed down Bucky’s left side. One hand rested on Bucky’s hip bone and the other gave a little fondle and jiggle before Steve traced his thumb over Bucky’s perineum. Bucky hadn’t felt so cherished and tormented (no, _torment_ wasn’t quite right, this was too amazing) in far too long.

He gripped the comforter on Steve’s bed and bit down on his bottom lip, just short of emitting an embarrassing squeak from the pleasure.

“Speaking of lube.” Steve rested his chin on Bucky’s abs. “Shove that over here, please?”

“You got two hands.” Bucky nearly laughed.

Steve’s fingers stuttered over Bucky’s tender skin. “We could take our chances we got enough going on here? You feelin’ lucky?”

Bucky arched toward Steve’s hand, his abs clenching, and a rough breath escaped before he patted the bed until his hand hit the tube. He flicked the cap again, handing it to Steve, never taking his eyes from the beauty of Steve’s very mischievous face.

“Thank you.” Steve’s mouth and tongue emphasized the soundless phrase.

“Will you even hear me?” Bucky asked as the chill of Steve’s newly slicked fingers caused his voice to crack.

“Some.” Steve put his free hand on Bucky’s chest. “If you’re loud. Tap my shoulder if something’s not right.”

Bucky reached for Steve’s jaw, stroking it gently. “I’m not worried. Self-conscious maybe.”

Steve caught Bucky’s thumb between his lips and dragged his teeth over it, before drawing it into his mouth. When he let it loose, he held Bucky’s gaze. “Don’t be. Make all the noise you want, just remember I can’t judge how loud _I’m being_ , so…” Steve finished with a shrug, before proceeding with a second finger.

Bucky’s self-consciousness was forgotten as his breath caught. He stroked Steve’s hair, amazed that Steve didn’t seem to be concentrating at all as he worked Bucky’s body to ready him for the next level. Hhe was making faces at Bucky to the point that Bucky nearly laughed, until the mischief dissolved and Steve’s fingers stroked a whine from deep within Bucky’s core.

Steve shifted, softly and quickly stroking Bucky’s calf as he lifted Bucky’s leg. Bucky drew his other leg to wrap around Steve’s slender, bare body. His heel dug into the cushion of Steve’s ass cheek as Steve pressed slowly into him. He clenched his fist in Steve’s hair and pulled Steve’s head closer, inhaling the soft hints of leather and citrus that clung to Steve’s neck. Bucky sucked at that spot on his neck, nipping and licking at the throb of his pulse, grunting as Steve’s pace quickened, and almost smiling against his skin at the guttural sounds Steve made as he got closer to climax.

Steve gripped Bucky’s hips, thrusting, watching Bucky’s features change from surprised to dazed to delighted. Not only was he blissfully buried inside Bucky’s tight, beautiful body, but his hips were enveloped by Bucky’s legs wrapped firmly around him, pulled even closer and held tight by the strength in Bucky’s thighs. He slipped a hand between their bodies, sliding it over Bucky’s abs. He raked his knuckle across the tip of Bucky’s cock, feeling moisture there. He slipped his thumb purposefully over the tip.

Bucky was nearly overwhelmed, feeling so full, and being on the receiving end of Steve’s powerful thrusts. The naughty smile Steve licked away as he stroked Bucky’s throbbing erection pushed him over the edge. “Fuck,” Bucky drawled, rolling his hips against the dual assault. “My God, Stevie!” he panted. “Oh, my God, yes!” Bucky was only vaguely aware that he was spewing completely incoherent repetitions of the same words as Steve’s climax shook him. He wasn’t far behind, coating Steve’s hand and both of their bellies. Warmth turned cool as it trickled over the valleys of Bucky’s abs and Steve stilled.

Sweat dampened Steve’s hair, and Bucky reached to push the stray lock from Steve’s face. Steve leaned into the touch, licking his lips before kissing Bucky. “Hey, so…” Steve’s breath tickled Bucky’s cheek. When Steve withdrew, Bucky slid his foot down Steve’s thigh, letting his leg dangle off the edge of the bed.

“Time to go?” Bucky teased, tickling Steve’s leg with his other foot before letting it drop alongside Steve’s slender legs.

“No.” Steve shook his head faintly, removing and swiftly disposing of the condom, before returning to engage in more random kissing along Bucky’s jaw and neck. “Just catching my breath.”

“I should be saying that. Damn, Steve.” Bucky’s hand closed softly over the back of Steve’s neck. “You’re aces.”

Steve crawled alongside Bucky on the bed, laying on his side. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

“You okay?” Bucky rolled his head to the side to look at Steve, becoming concerned about Steve’s breathing.

“Yes. Just need a minute.” Steve smiled softly, tracing the sticky lines of Bucky’s abs. “Then I’ll get you cleaned up.”

“I can do that,” Bucky moved to sit up but Steve’s firm hand stopped him.

“I was thinking we’d take care of it together. In a few. Let me look at you.” Steve’s fingers and gaze wandered over Bucky’s body, not just the scars, not just his stump. Steve didn’t seem fascinated by the gore, he seemed interested in Bucky as a whole and that was _not_ something Bucky could fathom.

“Nothin’ much to look at,” Bucky tried to joke. “Less than there used to be, more too, I guess.”

“I’m sure I’ve said you’re beautiful.” Steve’s tone disputed Bucky’s dismissive sarcasm, and his fingers tapped a little more roughly against the scars. “I’m an artist, it’s my business to know these things.”

“I need to get this taken care of.” Bucky squirmed a little, uncomfortable and a little embarrassed at all of the attention. He took Steve’s hand in his and pulled as he sat up. Steve didn’t argue, following along with Bucky to the bathroom. “Wow, so this is nice.” Bucky gushed after he turned so Steve could read his lips when he bathroom lights warmed the thoroughly modern bathroom.

“Thanks.” Steve reached past Bucky to start the water in the multi-head shower. “Since I had to redo the old one, I figured I’d go all out. It’s supposedly not my best use of money for home remodeling, but I’m not going anywhere, so I don’t care about resale value. I feel bad that there’s no music. Do you want me to put something on?”

“We can communicate other ways, but it’s really your call since I’m coming at you with a disadvantage.” Bucky held his hand up, waggling his fingers, before caressing Steve’s cheek and jaw, then pulling him in for a kiss. “This is fine,” he added, following as Steve backed into the open shower.

Steve pulled fresh cloths from a shelf next to the frosted window above them and looked at Bucky for his approval before he started to lather one. Bucky hadn’t been _bathed_ by anyone since he’d recovered, but this wasn’t that grit your teeth and get past it feeling. No, this was - Bucky was - eager. He nodded once, and Steve appeared to understand, sliding the wet, soapy cotton over Bucky’s neck and torso, following the water that drizzled over his soaped skin with kisses.

Bucky took the cloth from Steve, adding more of the scented wash - so that’s where the citrus came from - to replenish the lather, and steadily backed Steve up to the tile wall, slowly dragging the sudsy, warm cloth along Steve’s collarbones, down his slender stomach and wrapped it around his impressive, semi hard cock. Bucky watched Steve’s features change from amused to softly relaxed, to a lethal combination of amused and aroused.

As Steve’s breath rushed out of him, Bucky claimed his mouth, teasing his tongue between Steve’s lips. Steve dragged his hands through Bucky’s hair and held his face gently, leaning away from the tile into Bucky’s space, and engaged in the kiss he had started.

The warm water pelted Bucky’s back and as the spray poured down over his ass he tried to concentrate on Steve’s lithe body. Before he had a chance to think, Steve took the cloth Bucky had been using to stroke him with and tossed it to the corner, taking another cloth and resuming his original task of bathing Bucky. He sank to his knees, looking up at Bucky through those obscenely long lashes, and proceeded to wash Bucky from his cock to his ass before discarding the second washcloth. Steve licked the underside of Bucky’s length, smirking up at him as he did so.

Bucky braced himself with his hand on the wall, watching in awe at Steve’s beauty and the reverence he was being treated to. This wasn’t a familiar feeling at all, being cherished and even desired. Steve’s hand wrapped around his base and when Steve took the rest of his length, Bucky moved his hand from the tile to the side of Steve’s face, smoothing his thumb across the dip in his cheek. He was grateful when Steve wrapped both hands around his thighs, stabilizing him, since his legs felt like rubber and his toes curled against the cool, wet tile.

Steve pulled away just before Bucky’s release, looking up at Bucky as Bucky watched him. “Fuck,” Bucky breathed out harshly, as his body shuddered, and he gripped Steve’s shoulder near his neck to steady himself. “You’ve been doing all the work,” Bucky added as Steve stood up in front of him, and wrapped his arms around Bucky under the still warm (but significantly less so) spray.

“I don’t see it that way.” Steve’s kisses dotted Bucky’s collarbones. “How do you feel about getting dried off, I’ll bring some drinks up, and we can attempt to get through the ‘studio tour’?”

“I think we might be able to focus now.” Bucky held Steve close, their bodies slippery from the water. “Jesus,” he breathed against Steve’s wet hair before backing up so Steve could see his lips. “Yes.” He smiled awkwardly, before laughing with Steve.

Steve slowly withdrew his arms from around Bucky, and reached outside the shower for the clean towels hanging on the wall, as Bucky turned the water off. Steve secured his towel low on his hips, before reaching around Bucky to wrap the remaining towel around Bucky’s waist. Steve’s hands brushed against Bucky’s skin repeatedly, trailing over Bucky’s belly once the towel was secure. Steve pulled another towel from the shelf and handed it to Bucky. Bucky dried his face and ran the towel over his hair, squeezing and soaking up as much of the water as he could before dragging it over his chest as he followed Steve out of the shower and through the bathroom door.

Steve turned around from his dresser, adjusting his hearing aid as he did. “I have some sweat pants in the closet that should fit, if you don’t want to put your jeans back on. You are okay with staying the night?”

“We haven’t even started drinking.” Bucky grinned. “If you’ll have me, I promise to try being less of a moody drunk.”

“You were fine,” Steve reassured Bucky with a gentle caress on his cheek before he put his glasses on.

Bucky watched as Steve stepped into the blue ombre lounge pants from earlier. He was falling - hard - for this guy he barely knew.

While Steve was getting drinks together, Bucky found the ‘Bard College’ sweatpants piled on a shelf inside Steve’s the impeccably organized closet. Bucky peeked into the closet a little further, inhaling the aroma of leather, cedar, and lavender. With a final sniff, Bucky backed away from the closet and dropped his towel. He pulled the pants over one leg at a time, hiking them up, while considering who they might  have belonged to.

Frowning in the dresser mirror, Bucky dragged his fingers through his hair, trying to settle it into place with just his hand. He made a few faces as he settled for a wet, tousled look and his eyes landed on the reflection of his scars. He lifted what remained of his arm, looking under and around the side of his torso. He recalled the way Steve regarded him, and scrunched his face up, squinting, trying to see anything other than mutilation. With a noncommittal shrug, he turned toward the door and wandered down the stairs, his bare feet slapping the wood rhythmically.

“I came to lend a hand. Just the one.” He grinned as he stepped up on the side of Steve’s better ear.

Steve wrinkled his nose and offered a quiet laugh, handing Bucky a bottle of whiskey. “I have some mixers in the studio. I’ll take the tray if you take that last bottle.”

Bucky looked at the tray that held a bucket of ice, glasses, and more bottles. “You’re gonna get me drunk?”

“I’m gonna offer you drinks and snacks, and if you get drunk you’re more than welcome to come on to me, because I’ll probably be drunk too and either way, I’ll like it.”

Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, still holding the bottle, and kissed him roughly, he tasted of whiskey, where he hadn’t before. “You’re doing shots without me?”

Steve leaned against Bucky, smiling, but still completely sober. “Just a quick one. I realized what we just did and how disorganized this date has been. I thought a bracer could push the embarrassment away.”

“Until that confession,” Bucky teased. With the crook of his elbow, Bucky gave Steve’s neck a quick squeeze. “It’s bullshit, by the way, date’s been going fine. Who says there’s gotta be a plan. You’ve been planning around your gallery, for this show, for what? Weeks? You get to be as disorganized as a guy like you might be able to manage.”

“A guy like me?” Steve picked up the tray as Bucky withdrew his arm.

“I’ve seen your closet.” Bucky shrugged. “I’m guessing you’d hate to be considered sloppy in any capacity.”

“I’d argue, but I did clean up the studio recently. It’s usually chaos in there.”

Bucky laughed with Steve following him up the stairs. They went into the studio and Steve offered Bucky a seat on one of a pair of chairs near the windows. “Yeah, chaos.”

Pushing his glasses up after he set the tray on the low side table, Steve shook his head. “I said I cleaned up.” Steve poured two drinks and kissed Bucky before pressing a cool glass into his hand.

“You saw my place.” Bucky watched Steve move around the studio, picking up a pencil and a sketchbook.

“You wanna be in the next issue?” Steve asked, sitting in the chair across from Bucky and putting his foot on the seat by Bucky’s thigh.

“Jesus.” Bucky breathed. “Sex and this? Marry me?”

“Maybe.” Steve shrugged, grinning as he pushed his glasses more firmly on his nose. “I haven’t seen you in a suit yet.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You should get going.” Bucky smiled at Steve, lying across his bed.

Steve looked up from where he was drawing on Bucky’s skin, tracing an elaborate tangle of thorns over Bucky’s scars. Hours ago, they’d been drinking, when Steve had the idea to gather his art pens, and pull Bucky to the bedroom. Now, he was sitting cross-legged next to Bucky, bent over, intently shading the green vines. “I have an hour before I have to be there. Are you still planning to come tonight? I’ll send a car.”

“I will be there. I can take the bus, but you can bring me home. You do know this is gonna wash off.”

“Might be a few days. Maybe less.” Steve blew at the lock of hair in his eyes. “I always end up with stained fingers for days.”

Bucky pushed the hair from Steve’s eyes. “You sober enough to drive?”

“No.” Steve laughed softly, capping the pen. “I’ll see if Nat can drive me. Hey, maybe you can ride with them? Tonight, I mean. I could introduce you to Nat this morning and then you won’t have to feel weird about it.”

“I’ll still be weird,” Bucky teased, pulling Steve closer for a kiss. “I hope I’m not hungover again today. I have to make those calls I didn’t make yesterday.”

Steve reached across Bucky and grabbed his phone. He sent a text to Nat, smiling at the thought that she’d tease him like nothing else when she came to pick him up. He almost wanted to warn Bucky, but he guessed any warning about Natasha would either frighten him or wouldn’t be believed. He held the phone up to take a picture of Bucky as he waited for her reply.

“Hey. What’s that all about?” Bucky lifted the stump of his arm to try to hide, but he had a silly, practically daring grin on his face.

“I thought, if you liked it, if you decided to make it permanent, you’d need a reference photo.” Steve snapped several shots of the temporary artwork that covered Bucky’s torso and under his arm. The roses and thorny vines had blossomed as they’d talked about things from their childhoods, Bucky’s service, and anything else that popped up during the night. Bucky had mentioned having it made permanent, but promised not to do anything while inebriated.

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Bucky pulled the phone closer when Steve held it up to show the pictures. “Delete that one.”

“No.” Steve shook his head. “It’s private, but it’s not going anywhere. Jesus, Buck, it’s just your face.”

“Okay, keep it then.” Bucky shoved the phone back toward Steve, before sitting up on his elbow to kiss Steve again. “Those look great. I can’t believe you see that when you look at this.”

“I did,” Steve said, punctuating it with a kiss. “I do.” He let the phone drop onto the bed next to Bucky, holding Bucky’s hair loosely in one hand, putting his free hand on Bucky’s cheek to caress his face. “I need to get breakfast together.”

“Steve.” Bucky stopped him. “Don’t make a fuss. If stopping on the way to the gallery works for you, I can find something between here and my place.”

“It’s not a fuss,” Steve protested, slowly dragging his hands down over Bucky’s chest. “We can’t seem to get these dates quite right.”

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” Bucky sat up and faced Steve. “First date: Kiss. Second date: Dinner and drinks, okay _yours truly_ got blasted, maybe not ideal. Thanks for the second chance after that. Third date: Dinner, drinks, sex… Nope, I don’t see a problem.”

“I was the embarrassment for the first date, so you absolutely get a pass on the second. Last night I was completely disorganized and…”

“And I’m still here. I’ve had a lot of technically perfect dates, they ended with me paying for them with my pride and my body. This--” Bucky gestured vaguely between them before taking Steve’s hand in his, “--has been the best date I’ve ever been on, before or after my injury. If you’re still going to keep score for who’s the biggest embarrassment, there’s still tonight and me out of my element.”

“Well, if you’re already planning on embarrassing me, the least you can do is let me get one up on you by fixing you breakfast.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Steve toppled backward as Bucky leaned over him, effectively pushing him back against the pillows, there was still a hint of alcohol on Bucky’s breath as he kissed Steve quickly and then again slower, exploring. Steve reached for Bucky, his fingers brushed the smooth skin of Bucky’s belly, tracing over the topography of scars on one side and the smooth plane on the other. He gripped the sides of Bucky’s torso as Bucky leaned into him, he kissed back roughly before Bucky pulled away grinning.

“At least you can let me give you a hand.”

“You’ve only got _The One_.” Steve grinned back when beating Bucky to his own punchline made Bucky grimace.

“I am pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“What was that? You mumbled. Speak up, remember? I’m deaf.”

“Nice try.” Bucky pecked Steve’s lips abruptly. “You gotta work on the comebacks, kid.”

Steve shoved Bucky away, laughing when Bucky toppled back on his ass on the bed. “I’m going go to start cooking something before we start something else we can’t finish.”

Before he could forget, Steve pulled the suit he planned on wearing for the opening out of the closet and set it on the foot of the bed, and then dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. He tried not to watch as Bucky pulled his jeans on, but he failed. Bucky whipped what looked like a pocketknife out of the right pocket, and swiftly buttoned them one-handed before pulling the zipper up. Caught watching Bucky dress when Bucky’s head peeked through the opening of his t-shirt, Steve cleared his throat and blushed. “So much for my bold statement about cooking.”

“Curiosity?”

“Fuck no, screw that, yeah, I could watch you all day.” Steve gripped Bucky’s belt loops. “You’re beautiful and have a mesmerizing grace. You’re gonna have to start believing me.”

“Working on it.” Bucky kissed Steve on the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for calling me on it. I swear, I need to stop drinking. ‘M a melancholy fuck.”

“You’re also very chatty, and handsy. God, I wish I didn’t have responsibilities today”

“Well, I do. So, even if you’re going to bail on your artist and all that commission money, I have to grovel for a job.”

“You mean broker an earlier start-date.” Steve’s hands trailed up Bucky’s sides under his t-shirt. “I could use an extra hand at the gallery if you want to start your internship earlier, too.”

“Doesn’t prepping for a showing fall outside a graphic artist’s purview?”

“Nope.” Steve kissed Bucky quickly, punctuating the statement. “Interns get to do a lot of grunt work. Breakfast. I can whip up some eggs pretty fast.”

“You sure you don’t want to make the intern do the grunt work?”

“You did say you’d lend a hand.”

Bucky pulled Steve closer with his hand on his neck. “Take whatever you need.”

Steve groaned and shoved playfully at Bucky. “On that note, I’m going to brush my teeth. I’m pretty sure there’s an extra brush, since we both still smell a little boozey.”

“You’re running out of breakfast time.”

“So, come to the gallery with me. I’ll order something to be delivered to the gallery or I can have my intern run for coffee.”

“I see.” Bucky grinned. “This is what I’m signing up for? This kind of abuse?”

“Listen, one of these days, we’ll get a date right from start to finish. One of us will plan it, it will go smoothly, including an actual sit-down dinner, for Christ’s sake. We’ll fuck like there’s no tomorrow, and then when we’re proven wrong and tomorrow comes, there’ll be time for an actual breakfast.”

“You’re talking fantasy right now.”

Steve followed Bucky into the bathroom and rooted around the cabinets for the extra toothbrush he knew he’d bought. “Who says?”

Steve watched Bucky’s mouth in the mirror, even though he could hear him perfectly, his lips were sometimes too distracting to actually lip read anyway.

“I say so,” Bucky said with a grin. “We’re too beyond all of that normal shit. We met under weird circumstances and nothing _normal_ has happened to us yet.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.” Steve nudged Bucky’s arm with his elbow just as Bucky was putting paste on the toothbrush on the counter. “Missed.”

“You suck.” Bucky pushed back at Steve. “Want the intern to clean this mess up, too, I bet.”

Steve kissed Bucky’s neck. “I’ll clean it up, I asked for it.”

“Shouldn’t be pushing a drunk, one-armed man around.” Bucky held the toothpaste tube up in front of Steve’s face. “Here y’ go.”

When Steve reached for the tube, Bucky pulled it away, laughing.

“Harsh.” Steve hid a chuckle - poorly - as he wrested the tube from Bucky’s firm grasp. “One hand my ass, you’re a strong bastard.”

Steve didn’t resist making faces in the mirror as Bucky brushed his teeth. He gave his best effort to try and make him crack up in the middle of brushing while he prepared his own brush. He was impressed with the level of control Bucky exercised, he got a mere wink for his trouble, before they both startled at the sound of Natasha behind them.

“Boys,” she sounded unimpressed, but her reflection showed that she was quite satisfied with herself.

“Nat!” Steve sputtered, before spitting the mouthful of lather into the sink. “Tasha, what the hell?”

“You said you needed a ride. I let myself in, as usual.”

“Of course you did. Give me a minute.” Steve blushed, trying to telegraph an apology to Bucky through his reflection with an eyebrow lift before giving Nat a purposeful glare over his shoulder.

“By all means.” Her smirk and pirouette were as aggravating as the smug tone of her voice.

“God, I’m so sorry,” Steve said in a rushed whisper.

“Relax,” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s after rinsing his mouth and brush, and putting it on Steve’s counter in the holder. That was more soothing to Steve than the gesture and humored tone. “We knew she was coming, we’re adults, and we’re both fully clothed.”

“Well, you have a point.”

“Finish up, I’ll go introduce myself. Should I go full out fanboy?”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. “You might wanna rein it in a little.”

“Anything for you.” Bucky grinned as he left the room with a flourish.

Steve finished up in the bathroom and found Bucky sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his shoe on, talking to Natasha about combat scenarios.

“Wow, so you two want me to leave you alone?” Steve teased, entertained at the ease Natasha felt around Bucky, as she lounged across the foot of the bed.

“James has a lot of experience, and I’m a writer.” Nat shrugged before giving Steve an exaggerated wink. “So yeah.”

“Too bad he’s busy today.” Steve pushed Nat’s foot off the bed and she sat up smirking up at him. “So, since one of my best friends just met my boyf… in my bedroom...”

Steve was hot from the blush, he closed his eyes waiting for Nat’s response. He didn’t expect Bucky’s hand to snake around his wrist or his thumb to rub across the tender skin.

“I was hoping I could get a ride with you to the gallery, like Steve said, I volunteered to help get ready for tonight.”

“Sure thing, James.” Nat patted Bucky on the cheek, embarrassing Steve even more. “I’ll have Sam get extra breakfast, any food oddities we should know about?”

“Tasha!” Steve ducked his head, shaking it wishing she would just turn into a cat or something, anything, even something as fantastical as that, would be easier to handle than her not-so-subtle torment.

“Do hurry, Steven.”

“Tash.” Steve turned to retrieve his suit from the bed, smiling as Bucky released his wrist. “If you’re going to be this _impossible_ , at least make it up to me by taking my suit down?”

He almost expected her to flip him off and flounce out the door. He was almost wrong. She took his suit from him before flipping him off and flouncing out the door.

Bucky laughed as he tightened the laces of his shoe. “You two sound too much like Clint and me.”

“I adore the nuisance that she is. To be honest, when she hooked up with Sam? I was as happy as any busybody matchmaker could be, and I had nothing to do with it.”

“Are you typically a busybody matchmaker?” Bucky stood up, straightening his shirt, before pulling a hair-tie out of his back pocket and swiftly tying his hair off his neck.

“Nope.” Steve followed Bucky out of the bedroom. “My Ma was though, the worst. I mean she always had the best interests of people at heart, but she could be merciless in her attempts. When I first brought Sam home? Oh man, she tried and tried.”

Steve smiled at the memory of his mother’s meddling and at the rich laugh coming from Bucky.

“You’d better not be laughing at something he’s saying about me,” Natasha teased from the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t believe a word.”

“For a second there, I thought maybe you were gonna take me out if I was. Actually, I was laughing at something he said about his mom.”

“You remember how she was about set-ups, Tash.”

“Do I ever! She tried to set me up with Steve after Sam convinced her he was perfectly happy being friends with him.”

“Sounds like your mom was pretty cool.”

“She was,” Steve and Nat both said together. Steve felt less of the usual painful bite and a little extra joy mentioning his mother so comfortably. The place was full of memories of her, but talking about her still hadn’t gotten easier, yet he was joking with Bucky about her with a sense of lightness.

“I’m running this out to the car, get the heat back on, James, make sure he’s not forgetting anything,” Nat said over her shoulder as she walked out the kitchen door.

“What was that? Is she accusing me of being a child?”

“You wearing sneakers with that suit?” Bucky grinned at Steve. “Not that it would be a bad look, but I’ve seen your shoe collection.”

“Shit! Shoes. I’m putting shoes on and can’t even remember I’ll need a different pair for tonight.” He didn’t realize the nerves were starting to kick in, but that had to be the reason. Okay, maybe being half-drunk and sleep deprived from a night with Bucky had some bearing on his faculties too.

“Relax. Do you have a preference?” Bucky laid his hand on Steve’s shoulder as he pulled the lace tight. “Or do you trust my judgement? I’ll grab a pair and some socks.”

“Brown suit, so don’t…”

“Blue and purple wingtips it is.”

Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky was teasing or not, he considered it might not be a terrible pairing, and they _were_ his favorites, but he wanted to be a little less obvious tonight. “Dark brown ankle boots, back of the closet.”

“God, I love your shoe collection.” Bucky grinned before turning and rushing up the stairs.

“You’re weird!” Steve called after him as he tied the other shoe. He found his coat and shoved a couple of energy bars into his bag along with his laptop.

Bucky threw his arm around Steve’s middle, kissing the back of his neck, while holding the boots in front of Steve. “You said I was weird?”

“Well, your hearing’s fine. If we make Nat wait much longer she’ll cuff both of us upside the head, I’ll be screwed and your ears’ll be ringing.

“Hah, then we’re done making her wait, aren’t we? Your shoes, sir.”

Steve took the boots from Bucky, leaning back against his chest for an extra beat, inviting - and receiving - another kiss, this time against his throat.

“You’re gonna want your coat.” Bucky pulled away to retrieve Steve’s coat from the bar stool where he’d left it the night before. It had been forever since Steve had someone other than Sam or Tasha behave domestically toward him, and he found he really liked it.

“Thank you.” Steve stepped up and put a soft kiss on Bucky’s cheek. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re being all sweet now to soften the blow when you turn into a demonic taskmaster?”

“You’ve read my comics?” Steve shrugged, trying not to smile. He followed Bucky out the door, locking it behind them. “We could have Nat run by your place if you want to change.”

“I’m wearing a fresh shirt, as long as you don’t mind comic representation. I might take someone up on a ride later to get changed for tonight though.”

“We’ll get you taken care of.” Their words lingered around them in an icy mist and Steve stuffed his hands into his pockets. “What happened to the warmer weather?”

“In like a lion.” Bucky shrugged, he took Steve’s bag and set it in the back seat before sliding in next to it.

It was clear that Bucky expected Steve to take shotgun, Steve smiled at the surprised look on his face as Steve slid in next to him, forcing him to scoot toward the middle of the back seat. Steve reached across Bucky’s legs to set his shoes on the floor next to him, and as he settled back against his seat, he rested his hand on Bucky’s knee.

“I see. You really think I’m _your driver._ ” Nat peered at them through the rearview mirror.

“Yup, to the gallery, _driver_.” Steve made a face at Nat’s reflection.


	10. Chapter 10

Even though they’d spent the whole day together helping Steve with the gallery, Bucky felt exposed sitting next to Natasha in the front seat of her car. “Thanks for taking me back to change, I tried to tell Steve I could take the bus.”

“I would have insisted anyway. I want to get to know you better.”

“That’s not daunting at all.” Bucky looked at her. He knew he was nervous, of course she’d figure that out too, no use hiding it. “I wanted to ask you something, but I’m kind of worried about how Steve would take it.”

“If you’re asking me to keep something from him, I’m not going to be able to help.”

Bucky was extremely conscious of Natasha’s every move, when she shifted gears it felt as threatening as the tone of her answer.

“I don’t want you to do that, I - do you know about the neighboring office construction? The crew I worked with - they’ve been hassling Steve and I’m worried they might pull something tonight. I saw Pierce’s name on the guest list…”

“He’s the building owner, of course he would be included.”

“I know, but two of the guys on my crew - the guys who have been bugging him - are his sons. I’m not exactly proud to admit I’ve been running from the problem they pose.”

“Why are you running from them?”

“I’m, I’m afraid - not of them -” Bucky looked at Nat as she stopped in front of his building. “Not really, but of what I might be capable of doing if they get out of hand.”

“Did you have anything to do with any of their torment of Steve?”

“Fuck no!” Bucky couldn’t blame her for asking, but he was appalled nonetheless. “Listen, I was new on the job, a very temporary situation, and as much as he’ll _let you_ stand up for him, I did. I have a bad feeling about the guest list, I know Steve’s nervous about Pierce pulling his lease, and they’ve been progressively more destructive.”

“You’re worried about them showing up, you don’t think Pierce is in on it?” Bucky was relieved when she sounded like she could believe him.

“I don’t know why the old man would be in on anything,” Bucky opened the door, getting out and grabbing his things. “Steve’s giving him good money.”

“Yeah, I could see it if he had somebody vying for the spot, but he could find any number of ways to terminate the lease. Why do you think those guys are targeting Steve?”

“Same reasons they targeted me. They clearly feel that they’re superior to anybody with a disability, they are rampant homophobes, and complete assholes. They’re also immature and horrible people.”

“Wow, James, don’t hold back.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at her tone. He fumbled his things as he tried to unlock the door, but when she caught them before they could fall, he reminded himself what his little niece had said to him repeatedly, that she was helping him _“because you’d help me if I dropped something.”_

“Thanks. If I could get you to hang onto those, there’s another door with a few more locks.”

“Just a few?” She seemed amused, but something else was under the surface, she understood.

“Couple of paranoid vets, one mostly deaf? The other woefully disarmed? Yeah, just a few.”

Bucky went through the usual security check, only kind of feeling self-conscious for it, before stepping over the threshold. “You’re welcome to change either in Clint’s bedroom off to the left or the bathroom. I’ll be out as soon as I can. Help yourself to anything in the fridge while you wait.”

“I’m fine, James. I’ll use the bathroom to change. Thanks for the offer.”

“You kidding? You saved me commute time. It’s the least I can do.”

Bucky left Nat in the living room, while he hurried into the bedroom to change. He contemplated going with or without the arm, and finally decided to use it after quickly assessing the possible reactions from people, being in a place he was already going to feel displaced from. He came close to either giving up or asking Nat for help when he finally wrangled the rig in place. He grumbled about hating it as he finally got the straps secured.

He saw his reflection in the mirror before he pulled his shirt on over the rig. He’d almost forgotten about the ink there. He really liked the color and he imagined getting a permanent rendition as he worked the buttons. Thinking about the possible future ink made it easier to look at his reflection. He worked the buttons as quickly as he could, and gave up on tucking the shirttails into the tight-fitting burgundy-pink pants he was borrowing from Clint. When he put the vest on, he posed, and imagined it was an okay look with the tails of his white shirt hanging loose. Finishing off with a black and white striped tie, Bucky turned and left his reflection behind.

He adjusted the tie as he made his way down the hall toward the living room. “Sorry for the wait, had to give myself a hand.”

“I just thought maybe you were a diva. I like the look.” Nat nodded, focusing on his stockinged feet. “Especially the harlequin socks.”

“I like fun socks. My niece started sending me cute and goofy socks. They kinda saved me once, and now they’re just something enjoyable.”

“Steve has weird socks too, since he grew up a sick kid, so, same thing I guess.”

“He’s moved on to weird shoes, and I love it.” Bucky smiled, pulling the black boot over his black and white sock covered foot. He worked the laces and tightened them, one foot at a time. When he stood up, he took a deep breath. “Fit to be seen in public?”

“You look great.” When she answered, Bucky detected a hint of shock. It actually made him smile, curious to know why she was surprised.

“Thanks.” Bucky crossed the room to the closet, pulling a leather blazer out. “You look amazing.”

Bucky’s concern for whether or not the jacket would fit across his shoulders and over the prosthetic were unfounded. Relieved that was the case, Bucky smoothed his hand over the soft leather before plucking his wallet from the counter and sliding it into his pocket.

When he fussed with his tie again, Nat brushed his hand away gently. “Here, clearly you’re not a tie guy.” Her hands were swift and experienced as she adjusted his tie.

“Clearly I am at a disadvantage, but I used to tie my dress uniform tie very well, thank you.” He winked at her. “They’re all hanging on a couple of hangers, pre-tied so I don’t have to mess with them, I was rushing…”

“Stop.” Her smile was warm as she tucked the ends of the tie under his vest. “There. Perfect.”

“When you complimented me a minute ago, you appeared surprised,” Bucky started as he led the way to the door. “What was the shock?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Natasha stood aside while Bucky locked the locks.

“You either didn’t expect me to clean up too well, or?”

“When I first saw you, you didn’t look like someone Steve would bring home. Seeing you in the - well, almost a suit - I can see it.”

“He tells me you set him up with horrible matches all the time. Apparently you and his mother had the same shortsightedness.”

“Ooh, that’s rough.” Nat laughed, leading the way down the stairs. “I think Sam’s gonna either love or hate you.”

“Story of my life!” Bucky shrugged, smiling as they left the building stepping out into a light dusting of snow. “Watch your step, guess I oughtta text the super.”

“Does that work?”

“Sometimes,” Bucky smiled. “Works better than if I don’t.”

They were quiet on the ride back to the gallery, comfortably so, which helped keep Bucky’s nerves at bay. He knew absolutely nothing about hanging around with the types of VIP people he expected would be there. He knew this ride wasn’t just a favor to Steve either. Not far from the parking garage, he looked from the road to Nat as she drove through traffic. “So, how do I measure up?”

“Pardon?” Natasha spared him a look with her brow raised.

“You checked my place out, you’ve been checking me out, if it were me, if someone were hovering around someone I care about as much as you do Steve, of course I’d be scrutinizing them. So, how do I rate?”

“Undecided.” She shrugged. “Early reports are good though.”

“I guess that’s acceptable.” He smiled.

“The warning about troublemakers was a good move. What won’t be is if you go vigilante and spoil things for Steve.”

“I hope I haven’t already.” After working alongside Natasha most of the day, Bucky felt comfortable as they walked together, but the threat was unmistakable. “I was hoping we could team up and keep our eyes peeled.”

“What do you mean already?”

Bucky slowed as they approached the gallery. “I had a minor altercation with the younger Pierce today when I was taking trash out. He called me names but when he started in with threats about Steve, I shoved him against the wall. I might have scared an evening of peace out of him.”

“Might have?”

“Choke-hold and threats. God, Nat, what if it backfires?”

Natasha pushed through the gallery door without a reply. Things were moving faster now, the caterer was nearly done setting up, as Bucky got closer to the space where the white china serving dishes were gleaming with food that could be mistaken for art, if his recent confession had not sapped his appetite, he could have appreciated the savory aroma.

Steve came out of the office, rapidly signing to a very attractive man who looked equally concerned and tired. Bucky could see that Steve was frustrated, the sign was so fast that he missed a lot of it, but Bucky’s paranoia went into high gear. He saw the man close his eyes, take a deep breath, and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and Steve stopped. Stopped walking, dropped his hands, and just took a deep breath.

“Everything okay here?” Nat asked, stepping close to the man with Steve and shooting Bucky a cold glare.

His stomach dropped.

“It will be.” The man looked at Natasha with a soft reverence before looking up at him, taking his measure before offering Bucky a polite smile. “You must be Bucky. Hi, I’m Sam.”

“Sam, Steve says great things about you. I’m glad we finally met.” Bucky nodded, taking the man’s accepted hand and shaking firmly. He looked from Sam to Natasha, concerned enough to consider Sam’s strong grip as threatening, it was one of those calculated moments that lasted just long enough to make an impression. Bucky turned his smile on Steve. “Hi. Everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted.

Bucky put his hand on Steve’s and gave a reassuring squeeze. “We just came in from the outside. You should take a look from that angle; everything looks wonderful. Do you have ice-melt? I’ll go put some out, we’re getting flurries.”

“Yeah, it’s in the back room. I’ll show you where it is.” Steve’s hand closed around Bucky’s and Bucky followed Steve toward the back room.

On their way back, Bucky heard Sam in a soft, sultry voice, tell Natasha how sexy she looked. He guessed a number of people had gotten their asses kicked for that exact exchange, yet she obliterated the space between them, curling against Sam. He suspected she was also extracting information from him.

“They’re cute,” Bucky muttered once they were behind the door in the back room.

Steve shrugged.

“Hey, did anything happen to cause the spike in nerves?” Bucky asked as he grabbed the plastic jug. “If it’s the weather, I doubt that’s going to thwart many people.”

Steve didn’t answer as they made their way through the gallery, music was playing in the main space, Nat and Sam were taking care of either answering caterer questions or sampling the goods, Bucky thought it might be both.

Outside, Bucky set the jug down and took Steve’s hand. “Talk to me.”

“You look amazing.” Steve looked up at Bucky pulling his hand from Bucky’s and stepping back. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“Why?”

“Pierce threatened the event. He wants to pull my lease and he said you were to blame. That can’t be right?”

“Steve -” Bucky couldn’t have been more breathless if he’d been sucker-punched in the diaphragm. “I - Oh, my god. I’m sorry.”

“What did you do?”

“I fought back.” Bucky stuffed his hand in the pocket of the leather jacket. He wrapped his fingers around a piece of paper that was in there, and squeezed it as tight as he’d wanted to squeeze Theo’s neck. “Theo came at me with his BS, and I took it and took it. I lost it when he started threatening you, and I shoved him against the back wall. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve deflated. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I can talk to Pierce. You shouldn’t be held accountable for something I said.”

“But I am. You’re my intern, I’m _responsible_.”

“I’ll talk to him. Give me a chance. I can fix it.” Bucky felt adrift, the look of pain on Steve’s face was the last thing he’d ever want to be responsible for.

“It’ll be too late for the event, he’s coming down here to close down the showing. People will be here by then.”

“Let me call him. Maybe I can explain before he gets here.” Bucky was struggling not to sound frantic, but the panic was taking hold. If he couldn’t fix it, the next step was running, but he didn’t want to abandon Steve. Intrusive thoughts reminded him that Sam and Natasha were there, but he fought them. “At least let me try. Do you have his number?”

“It won’t work.” Steve walked back toward the door. With his shoulders hunched as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “Maybe you should just go.”

There was the permission he needed. He almost followed Steve inside, but before he made the turn. He passed the entrance entirely and kept walking. Bucky warred with himself as he walked.

 _He told you to go!_ _  
_ It’s not what he wants and as cowardly as you’re being, it’s **not** what you want!  
_It’s safer this way, stay safe, don’t look into the faces of the people you’ve harmed._  
That’s where the nightmares come from!

The warring factions pushed Bucky nearer to the train station as the weather picked up. It was the shock of the cold when a car speeding by sprayed Bucky with dirty slush that snapped him out of it and turned him back toward the gallery. Steve could decide later whether he ever wanted to see him again, but Bucky was going to meet Alexander Pierce at the door and accept accountability for his angry outburst. This could get uglier before the night was through, but he’d try to make sure all of the ugliness fell at his feet.

Bucky stepped in front of the middle aged man as he got out of the car, the one that had doused him and had probably ruined his white shirt. “Mister Pierce. Sir, If I can talk to you for a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute.” The man seemed massive as he attempted to brush past Bucky.

Bucky squared his shoulders, twinging at the pain from the rig digging into his skin. “Sir, it was me,” he put his hand up between them. “Please, don’t punish Steve. I’m in anger management, Sir. What Theo said this afternoon, I -- it was me, I wasn’t speaking for Steve.” God, this was not working, he couldn’t form a cohesive thought. The lie about anger management was inspired, but everything else was so disjointed. Bucky was on the verge of having a panic attack shut him down, but he desperately kept rambling. “I was out of line. I’ll do whatever you want. Press charges, Sir. Just let Steve keep his lease.”

“Get in the car.”

Bucky looked at the square set of Pierce’s jaw, panic making him question what he’d heard. “Sir?”

“You accosted my son, you said I could press charges. Get in the car until the police get here.” Bucky flinched when Pierce flung a hand in the direction of the car, pointing at it to emphasize his direction.

“Sir, please don’t take this out on Steve.” Bucky’s breathing kicked up and he hurried to stumble into the open door, not looking back, afraid hesitation would make the man change his mind.

.-.

Steve walked through the gallery with the sick feeling that everything was going to be gone by morning, Bucky was already gone, shoved away, but gone without a fight nonetheless.

“Steve, we can fix this. What happened - you can’t hold it against James.” Natasha put her hand on Steve’s shoulder. “He wasn’t trying to sabotage your gallery.”

“I know, but look where we are now. And where is he?”

“You set him away.” Sam _would_ be the one to remind him of that. “I understand why, but you can’t send someone away _and_ blame them for going.

“What’s going on outside?” Nat turned away from Steve, pulling him by the arm toward the window.  He almost missed her question, but pieced it together.

They crowded at the window to see Bucky being escorted to a police car. People, dressed as Steve expected his guests would be dressed, were gathered on the sidewalk, watching the scene in the street. In spite of the commotion, all Steve could see was Bucky, wet and muddy, with his hand cuffed to his own belt, being placed into the back seat of the cruiser.

“Your boyfriend sacrificed himself for your lease,” the gravely voice of his landlord said behind them. “Your guests seem to be arriving.”

“What do you mean sacrificed?” Steve faced Pierce, even though he wanted to watch Bucky, concerned that Buck looked dazed, not unlike that first afternoon in his office.

“He’s asked that I consider his actions based outside of your establishment and employ, hold him responsible for accosting Theodore, and forgive any issue I may have taken with your business.”

“He was working for me. Bucky was attacked on _your_ property by your own employee and _son_. No! You won’t press charges against him.”

“I see you’re ready to move out then, so we can tell all of these people to go.”

“Sir.” Sam stepped up next to Steve. “If I can have a word with you outside.”

“Sam.”

“Steve, you have people to manage. Leave this to me.”

Steve let Natasha guide him to the door, following her lead as she elegantly welcomed people through the doors, apologizing for the disturbance. The chatter and music made conversations challenging, and Tasha stood nearby signing the important stuff. He didn’t miss her frequent glances toward the door, and he couldn’t bring himself to look. People were smiling and eating, he was talking too loud, and not paying attention. Nat made sure his artist was well attended with drinks, food, attention, and moments of peace. Steve only wished for any of those for himself.

It seemed forever before Sam came back inside, but as soon as he did, he led Steve to the office where the comparable silence was an instant relief, and closed the door. Sam didn’t bother speaking, instead signing to Steve that Bucky was probably in custody until morning. “Fucking power trip, man. I could go try to fight it, but I doubt he’d be out any sooner.”

“He’s freaking out, Sam. Did you see him before they took him away?”

“I didn’t. Listen, between Natasha and me, we have this covered if you want to go down there.”

“Sam, I sent him away, I’m the last person he’s going to want to see.”

“Says the man he’s doing this for.” Sam punctuated his comment with a dramatically arched brow and pursed lips. “You said yourself he’s freaking out. You think I’ll reach him faster than you?”

“You’ll get in faster. You’re a _lawyer_.” Steve put his hand on Sam’s arm. “Sam, you have to tell them he has PTSD, sometimes he has non-verbal breaks, somebody might hurt him. If you can see him, start with ASL.”

“I’m not a criminal defense attorney.” Sam watched Steve pace. “I guess I’m going then. Will you be okay here working with Natasha?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be okay. I don’t have a choice.” Steve continued to pace the width of the office before stopping to look at Sam. “Thank you.”

“Listen to Natasha while I’m gone,” Sam teased Steve, trying in vain to lighten the mood.

Steve shook his head, frown firmly in place, as he pushed through the doorway. The noise was like a wall, Steve tried to remember the flurry of bodies and noise meant potential sales. He watched Sam slip out the door and found Nat taking very good care of not only the artist but one of his regular buyers at the same time. ‘ _I quit,_ ’ he thought ruefully.

The event continued. As people socialized around the art installations and ate food, Steve tried not to think about Bucky in a cell, or his last words to him, or... a tap on his shoulder dragged him from the spiral of thoughts.

“You need to stop.”

He could always count on Nat. “I’m trying.”

“He wasn’t trying to make waves.”

“Tasha, I know.”

“Sam will do whatever he can to help.”

“Like you are. Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, tonight might as well have been cancelled.”

“We’re not done yet. Don’t worry about James. You two can have an adult conversation when emotions die down. Come on, Steve, I can continue doing this, but it’s only helping your business. You’re still moping and I don’t know how to help that.”

“I know, thank you so much, Tash.” Steve hugged Nat. “I’d be lost without you and Sam.”

“I feel the same way. You’ve pulled me out of some scrapes too. We’ll get through this one, I’m counting on you to help me figure out how to work some of it into the comic.”

That Steve was able to laugh was a testament to his friendship with Nat. “Count on me.”


	11. Chapter 11

Exhausted from the long day and even longer night, by the time Bucky was processed and made it to central booking, it was all he could do to sit upright. He’d been treated decently by the arresting officer and somehow the attitude followed him. He was grateful, since he had been close to a full-blown panic attack more than once. The hours had been grueling nonetheless. His back and shoulder ached, he was hungry, yet he didn’t think he could eat if he were to be offered food. Remembering the food set up in the gallery just reminded him of Steve’s disappointment, and his stupidity for not owning up to things before it got blown out of proportion.

He wasn’t sure what to think when he was told _his lawyer_ was there to see him. He didn’t expect a defense attorney before morning, but when he saw Sam, a wave of relief washed over him.

“What you’re doing is stupid.”

Bucky peered up at Sam with confusion. “You mean making things right?”

“I mean letting Pierce get away with extortion. You might see it as bartering, but you can’t barter your freedom. That’s stupid.”

“All I wanted to do was make Steve’s event go smoothly. I was busy helping, I should have stayed busy, minded my own business, and ignored Theo.”

“Those guys are almost impossible to ignore. Get ready to go home. Pierce is dropping the charges. He’s decided facing extortion charges is a bigger pain in the ass than his kid is.” Sam looked around before really looking at Bucky. “Have they treated you okay?”

“Yeah. No complaints other than I just want to go home.”

“Steve was worried. Said you looked like you were about to check out. He’s gonna ask.”

“I’m not so sure he’ll care to ask much about me. Either way, I’m fine. Nothing happened.” He wasn’t going to tell this man he barely knew how he’d fought darkness and terror repeatedly, strictly out of fear that he’d be beaten or otherwise mistreated for being disabled and mentally unstable.

“Pierce said you told him you had anger issues. Is there somebody you’d like to call?”

“A lie, a diversion. I _needed_ him to blame me entirely. He was going to hold Steve responsible for my actions. I do have a therapist, and boy this is gonna be an interesting few hours.”

Bucky was massaging his temples when Sam returned with someone to spring him. He looked up, vision dancing with the tired, hungry headache that had taken hold, and closed his eyes again, cringing from the glare from the overhead lights. His entire body rebelled when he stood up;, his legs felt rubbery and his neck and back burned. All he wanted to do was sprawl across his couch in his underwear, but he still had to travel across the city, likely by train or bus. It’s not as though the police would give him a ride back to where they grabbed him. _You only have yourself to blame_.

“I’ve got a car waiting.” Sam handed Bucky his jacket. “I’ll make sure you get home and then go check on Steve.”

“Thanks.” It was all he had left. One tired word that meant so much more than it could convey.

The ride across town was quiet, either Sam was judging him, or he knew that Bucky didn’t have much else he could say. Either way, Bucky was too tired to care - the quiet was fine with him. Sam had the driver drop Bucky in front of his door, waiting until Bucky was inside before he waved the driver on. Once inside, Bucky looked around the living room, with only one desire - to collapse in front of the television - but it wasn’t as easy as just flopping there for the duration.

He shrugged out of the soft leather jacket, setting it on the chair, then unbuttoned his vest as he trudged into the bedroom. The black-and-white striped tie was next. He forgot to _just_ loosen it so that it was tied for next time. He tugged it from around his neck and ran his fingers over the smooth silk. His eyes stung as he imagined untying Steve’s tie…

Bucky tossed the accessory toward his dresser, and watched as it snaked over the corner and puddled to the floor. Physically exhausted and ready to be rid of everything he was wearing, he  struggled out of his vest and shirt.

He dragged himself from the bedroom to the bathroom, remembering not too long ago when dressing himself had been such a challenge that he’d sit home from something like tonight’s event, maybe he should have tonight, too. He unstrapped the rig that held the prosthesis in place and wrangled it from his torso, catching sight in the mirror of the ink that was still relatively bright on his skin from earlier in the day. He thought about how he’d felt so comfortable, so cherished, was it today? Yesterday at the very least.

Bucky pulled his hair back into a hair-tie and packed the arm back into his bedroom, where he found his coziest clothes;, a threadbare band tee and a pair of fluffy, green, taco-printed pajama pants. He felt lazy as he sat on the edge of the bed to put the pants on, missing the leg entirely, twice, before getting his feet into the right legs. He carried the t-shirt into the kitchen with him, tuning out images from his horrible night by listening to the sound of his bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor along the hallway to the kitchen.

His stomach was pretty pissed at him for starving it all day, so he pulled out the last of the homemade bread, a piece almost twice the size of a typical slice. He decided he wasn’t going to wrestle with the cutting board and setting everything up, not when he was hungry enough to eat the whole thing anyway. He piled some shredded cheese on top of it and placed it under the broiler. While he waited for the cheese to melt, he put his shirt on and looked inside the fridge. He considered grabbing the beer that was on the shelf before reaching past it for a soda. Neither were probably the best choice for a nagging, empty stomach, but he thought the soda would be a little easier to tolerate.

“Oughtta tell the ole therapist about these little epiphanies as much as the whiny bitch stuff,” Bucky said to no one as he closed the fridge and popped the can open. The bread and cheese were starting to smell perfectly toasty and gooey, so he took a quick swig from the can before setting it beside the stove. He peeked into the oven to see the cheese just starting to give a little bubble. He held the oven door open, watching the juices simmer and the color darken ever-so-slightly. The warm air was welcome on his face and the spots where it heated the cotton of his shirt.

...

Bucky was halfway through a movie when he stuffed the last bite of his cheese toast into his mouth, long gone cold, it was still tasty. As he was brushing a crumb from his lip he heard a key in the lock. Clint was back early - rational thought - but every hair on Bucky’s body stood alert and he sat up, reaching for the nearest means of defense. The heavy book on the coffee table wouldn’t be much help, but he could fling it, he imagined, or brain someone if he could just have the element of surprise on his side. He didn’t even pretend the bow would do him any good, you needed two arms and Clint’s fucking skill to use that in close quarters.

The door opened, and a quick _‘I’m dead’_ crossed Bucky’s mind before he saw his friend’s spiky, blond hair and wildly purple hearing aids as identifiers.

“Hey, Bucko!” Clint grinned and leapt over the arm of the sofa. “How’d the big date go?”

“Fuck off.”

“You don’t mean it.”

Bucky watched as Clint yanked his shoes off and tossed them across the room. He took his hearing aids off next and sprawled across the sofa, dangling his legs over the arm, with his head next to Bucky’s thigh. He looked up at Bucky, patiently waiting. “I spent most of it in jail,” he signed.

Clint rolled onto his side before sitting up, facing Bucky. “What? What the fuck, Bucky?”

“Long story.” Bucky rolled his shoulder, stretched his neck muscles, and then flung himself back against the support of the sofa back. “One of Pierce’s asshole kids cornered me, I got tired of it and got in his face. Pierce was going to hold Steve accountable for my actions, since I was helping him out at the time. He threatened Steve’s lease on the gallery space so I let him press charges. I asked him to.”

“You risked what happened last time, being abused and mistreated, for that cute kid? You’re really gone.”

“This time I was a model prisoner, not some belligerent drunken amputee with a death wish. Entirely different circumstances. But yeah, the fear was there. I couldn’t be the cause of Steve losing his gallery. The only reason he puts up with their abuse is because it’s short-lived and he really wants this place to be successful.” Bucky grabbed the remote. Where was that when he was looking for a projectile? He turned the TV off. “For the last time, he’s not a kid. He’s my age.”

“You’re a kid.” Clint shrugged.

“You’re a dope,” Bucky huffed, fighting a smile. “Your turn. Why are you home?”

“Big mouth, no brain.”

“You blew it? She was incredibly tolerant, you know.”

“She was _not_ tolerant.” Clint looked at Bucky. “She tolerated _me_ , but she is a bigot and _I_ didn’t blow it. She was the one I was talking about. Not me. Not this time anyway.”

“So, she either said or did something very racist or she made some snide comment about yours truly.”

“Both things can be done in the space of one conversation if you talk more than you listen. Everything is black and white to her, literally and figuratively. I’m okay with it. She didn’t worm her way into this cold heart.” Clint clapped Bucky on the knee before adding. “Let’s go get some greasy food and shitty coffee. I’m buyin’.”

“I can’t let _that miracle_ pass me by.”

“You’re going to have to translate.” Clint deftly ignored Bucky’s slam. “I’m not putting those back in.”

“I’m not changing.” Bucky gestured to his taco pants.

Clint made a disgusted face. Bucky knew he hated them, but what was he gonna do?

“I’ve had a shitty night, I’m wearing these. You want to go alone? You don’t need a translator.”

“You wear them because you know I hate them.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming home. Jesus, I want a divorce.” Bucky bit back the first smile in what felt like forever. He put his warm, fleece lined boots on, one leg of his pants covered the ankle of the boot, the other was hung up in the shaft of the boot, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass about his appearance at this god-awful early hour.

“Too bad sweetie.” Clint grinned as he attempted to put Bucky in a headlock. Bucky sucker-punched him in the gut, sending sent him crashing into the sofa with a grunt before he popped back up laughing.

“You can claim spousal abuse, come on. Let’s go get our traditional divorce breakfast.”

“No such thing. Hey, if you marry that cute blond kid, does that mean I won’t get alimony?”

“You’re paying ME alimony,” Bucky argued before helping Clint up from the couch. “If I marry the - if I ever _see_ Steve again, I’ll let you stop.”

“You’ll see him,” Clint scoffed. “You’ll be doing - whatever people with taco pajama pants do - in no time.”

“You have pizza pajama pants, purple ones that you jack off in regularly. So don’t diss the wholesome snuggle-pjs.” Bucky pushed Clint toward the door.

* * *

“We didn’t talk much.”

Steve paced, not pacified by Sam’s answer. “What does that mean?”

“Just what I said,” Sam signed, having to stop and start again because Steve wasn’t facing him. “He was tired, not in a very good mood, and he said things were tolerable. I know better than to push some people, and he didn’t want to talk.”

“He wasn’t…”

“He wasn’t in a non-verbal state, no. Just sore and tired.”

Steve flung himself across the sofa in his living room, memories of Bucky there were scarce so he thought maybe he’d just sleep there. He covered his eyes with his arm and Sam had to nudge his elbow to get his attention.

“I can stay here while you rest. Go up to bed.”

“No - I appreciate it, Sam.” Steve sat up and pushed at the hearing aid he’d removed and set on the coffee table as soon as he’d made his way through the front door. “I’m gonna crash here. Go spend time with Tasha. Convey my deepest gratitude until I can do it properly.”

“If you’re sure.” Sam sat across from Steve. “How did the rest of the night go?”

“I have to be open in a few hours!” Steve didn’t answer Sam right away, the realization that last night was just the beginning just hit him. “God, I should have let Pierce kick me out.”

“You’re being dramatic, Steve.”

“I’ve had exactly zero sleep, I’ve alienated someone I was starting to care about, and from the looks of things I’m not getting any sleep between now and when I have to open the gallery. I get to be a little bit dramatic.”

“I’m leaving. Sleep.” Sam crossed the space and stood next to the arm of the sofa. “I’ll rally the troops in time to get the shop opened. If I know how to get to Natasha, and I do, I’ll be able to get her to help me open up. I don’t want to see you before noon.”

“Sam, you have your own work to do, I can’t -”

Sam stopped Steve with a firm hand on his shoulder. “Steve, a lot of things happened last night. You haven’t had time to process any of them, and you’re doing all of this on no sleep. Get some rest and _then_ you can come argue with me.”

“I’m too tired to push you away, I’m too tired to fight you.” Steve closed his eyes, trying to decide if he could actually sleep in his bed. When he opened them again he couldn’t be certain whether he’d dozed or not, but Sam didn’t seem to be concerned, so he guessed he just needed to wrap things up and go to bed.

“Good. Go up to your bed, Steve, you know you hate sleeping on sofas.”

“I do, you’re right. Thanks Sam.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll lock up, things will work out.”

Steve swiped his hearing aid from the table as he stood up. He watched Sam go into the kitchen to check the back door and waited for him to come back through. When Sam came into the living room again, he gave Steve a look that would typically precede an ‘I told you’, but Steve just clenched his fists at his sides before speaking. “I really appreciate everything you did, from the gallery, to talking to Pierce, to helping Bucky. And then you had to deal with me.”

“You’re the familiar part, I won’t say easy.” Sam smiled. “But all the rest of it was because it’s you. I always have your back, just like you do mine.”

They hugged, easy and meaningful, before Sam shoved at Steve’s shoulder and ordered him upstairs one last time. Steve gave Sam a mock salute, which he knew he hated, and dragged himself up the stairs, trusting Sam to lock the front door on his way out.

In the bedroom, Steve set his hearing aid on the bedside table before he noticed the bed had been made. He forgot it was the day the cleaning company came around, but he was relieved that he would go to sleep in fresh sheets. Sheets that wouldn’t smell like Bucky.

He untied his tie and dropped it to the floor. His blue shirt was next to land on top of the earthy brown and rust tie. Steve laid back across the bed, looking up at the ceiling. He removed his glasses and set them to his side, watching things fade to a blur before closing his eyes and lazily unfastening his trousers.

Steve considered the worst case scenario if he didn’t go brush his teeth before bed, and was treated to the memory of the morning before, side-by-side with Bucky while being judged by Natasha. He forced himself up and let his pants fall to his feet before stepping out of them. He hurried through brushing his teeth and then dragged himself back to the bed. Steve pulled the comforter back and flung himself across the bed on his stomach, tugging the comforter over his underwear-clad body.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky stopped in front of the gallery door, the place no longer looked like a five-star event was imminent. The soft lighting was back, showcasing images he knew in his heart were from Steve’s world travels, _the hands of the world_. His own hand trembled with the drink carrier as he nudged the door open with his elbow. The lights blinked and Bucky smiled at the familiarity, in spite of the terror of being kicked out the second Steve saw him.

Steve came out of the office, straightening the rolled cuff of his sleeve. He had his business smile on until he saw Bucky. The smile faltered and he reached up to push up glasses he wasn’t wearing. Bucky smiled again when Steve overcorrected and brushed at his hair. He had a new haircut - short and spiky, but not too short - it suited him. Bucky took a bracing breath and realized he was staring, he blinked and cleared his throat. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steve smoothed his sweater over his hip, nervously seeking his pocket. Bucky recognized the preemptive strike against Steve’s nervous habit of fidgety ASL.

“I brought a peace offering.” Bucky held the drink carrier up. “If you have a minute?”

“I was just getting ready to close,” Steve paused, and Bucky just _knew_ his eviction was imminent, until Steve spoke again surprising and delighting him. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll lock up.”

Bucky couldn’t help but stop halfway to the office, mesmerized by a painting on the wall. The backdrop was a bed of tangled thorns and blossoming roses, and in the foreground was a stylized image of his prosthetic clasping what he was absolutely convinced was Steve’s hand.

He heard Steve clearing his throat again, this time directly behind him, and turned around. “This is amazing.” His mouth twisted into a pained smile as Steve’s _thanks_ was little more than a whisper. “Sorry. I recognized the thorns and got distracted. I’ll get out of your way.”

He rushed to the office, planning to set the drinks and sweets down on the desk and get entirely out of Steve’s way. When he turned to go, Steve was blocking the door, his shoulders squared and his hands on his hips. Unable to escape, Bucky backed up, bumping against the desk.

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me around, since you told me to go. I just… I _needed_ to thank you for sending Sam…”

“I didn’t send Sam. He volunteered.”

Bucky’s shoulders dropped with his hopes, and he fussed with the fringe on the end of his scarf.

“He probably volunteered because I was so freaked out seeing you pushed into that cop car. I’m sure he figured I’d start begging soon. I am surprised to see you. You never answered my calls.”

“I wasn’t ignoring them, I was always in class or working. I’m not sure what I’d’ve said if I’d seen them, just like I couldn’t call back because I - well, didn’t know what to say.” Bucky paused his rambling to take a breath. “I’m so sorry I put you in a tough position that night.”

“Bucky, I wasn’t calling you for an apology.” Steve’s posture loosened and he took a step closer. “I was calling to tell you I was wrong. It shouldn’t matter, where my business is concerned, you were working for me, helping me, and I should have had your back. I had my priorities mixed up. I should never have put my emotions for a thing, for a place, above how I felt about you. School and work, huh? How’s it been?”

“Beats hard labor.” Bucky shrugged with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t take long for me to get used to being surrounded by creative people. I really think I made the right choice.”

“Would you like a seat?” Steve reached past Bucky for one of the cups. “I hope you weren’t in a hurry.”

Steve glanced at the cup and handed it to Bucky, as he accepted the offering, their fingers brushed and Bucky couldn’t remember if there was anything he was supposed to be doing beyond that moment. “No.” This time the barely audible word came from Bucky. “I mean, yeah, I’ll sit. No, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Bucky watched as Steve moved his chair around to the side of the desk, ensuring no physical barriers would be between them as they sat. Steve took a long drink from the warm coffee before peeking into the other two pockets of the cup holder and pulling pastries from the two crumpled bags.

“Dare I ask how the rest of the showing went?” Bucky made eye contact as Steve handed him a pastry half-wrapped in a napkin.

“Successfully. Thanks to Sam and Nat for rescuing the gallery the next morning while I slept. I got back to my regular hours the next day. All of the sculptures sold and most of the silks. There were a couple of paintings that the artist had to take back with him.”

“This new artist, I like his work.” Bucky bit his lip before releasing it into a hesitant smile. “It’s so intimate.”

Steve blushed and looked like he was trying to hide behind the chocolate croissant. “You know that’s my art, right?”

“Guy owns a gallery, figure he deserves to showcase his own stuff sometimes. The only problem I can see is some stranger owning something that’s such an intimate piece of you.”

“The one with the thorns isn’t for sale.” Steve set his coffee on the desk. “Everything else is, but not that one.”

“I didn’t mean that about me, I meant…”

“It’s the only one I’m really attached to. God, Bucky - I can’t do this, we’re not strangers, I’ve missed you. If you tell me you came here for closure or to be friends, I’ll understand. I’ll hate it, but I’ll understand.”

“Or I can tell you the truth. I missed you, too. Every missed phone call reinforced it. I kept telling my therapist about when you’d call and I couldn’t call you back, and every time, the question I had to answer was ‘why?’. I never really had a good enough answer which just made it that much easier to put it off until I did have an answer.”

“The truth?” Steve’s smile was devious and adorable, making Bucky laugh.

“Yeah, I was chicken shit,” Bucky chuckled. “That excuse doesn’t really go over well over a phone call, but just maybe it can be smoothed over with a small bribe reminiscent of my first lame attempt to woo you.”

“I think it worked both times.”

Bucky watched, fixated, as Steve crossed the small space between them, took what was left of his pastry, and set it away from them on the desk. Steve knelt on the chair, straddling Bucky’s thighs and taking his face between his hands. Bucky put his hand on Steve’s chest, gripping his sweater as Steve grinned down at him briefly before kissing him.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Bucky groaned into Steve’s mouth. “And your kisses.”

Steve sat back on Bucky’s knees. “Not my body?”

“That’s so shallow, hell no,” Bucky chuckled. “Okay, yeah. I’ve missed all of it.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Steve said again, sliding his hand down Bucky’s throat.

Bucky watched as Steve pulled the zipper on his jacket down, looking up into Steve’s blue eyes briefly before catching sight of his long, slender fingers again. He pulled Steve’s sweater, tugging him closer, and buried his face in Steve’s neck, shifting in his seat. “You ever do it in the gallery, Steve?”

“Nope.”

“Aren’t you glad I waited for closing time?” Bucky put his hand up Steve’s sweater, finding a soft t-shirt between him and Steve’s skin.

“Yeah, you’re a sly one alright.” Steve pulled his sweater over his head, then resumed kissing Bucky once again, before moving off the chair. He tugged the t-shirt from his waistband and Bucky used the space to stand up and take his hoodie off.

“Here’s where we get yanked out of the moment,” Bucky laughed, slipping his arm from his shirtsleeve and pulling the long-sleeved t-shirt over his head and off his prosthesis. “If you help me with this, it’ll go faster and look a lot less like a cartoon moment.”

Steve stood back, stroking his chin comically before giggling and stepping closer to help Bucky with the arm. “I haven’t watched a good cartoon in a long time, but I’d rather…”

When Steve fell silent, Bucky looked down at his belly where the thorny vines of his tattoo trailed to a stop. “I still have to get some color done.”

Once Steve finished helping Bucky, his fingers traced the dark lines. “I didn’t think you’d - I don’t know what I thought.”

Bucky took Steve’s hand in his, kissing his fingers. “It hurt more when your ink faded than getting this done.”

“I’m trying to decide.” Steve put his free hand on Bucky’s neck, stepping closer. “If that’s one of the sweetest--” He was so close to Bucky’s mouth. “--Or dumbest things I’ve ever heard.”

Bucky giggled, thwarting Steve’s newest attempt to kiss him. “Sorry.”

Steve wrapped both arms around Bucky’s neck and pulled him within reach of his lips. Bucky tugged him closer by the waist, voraciously meeting Steve’s passionate kisses with his own. Steve’s belt buckle dug into Bucky’s belly and his arousal pressed against Bucky’s. Steve’s wanton hip roll was delightfully sinful, but the belt buckle and it’s sharp edge was too much of a distraction.

“Steve,” Bucky muttered against Steve’s mouth as he let his arm slide down over Steve’s ass. “The belt has to go.”

Steve’s oral onslaught didn’t stop. He hooked one elbow around Bucky’s neck and used the other hand to loosen his belt, before reaching for Bucky’s waistband, swiftly opening and slipping the pants and the boxer briefs down over Bucky’s hips. Bucky unfastened Steve’s pants, and ran his hand across his warm skin around to cup his ass.

“What are we doing?” Steve muttered against Bucky’s throat.

“Whatever you want to do,” Bucky breathlessly replied, kneading the flesh under his hand, aching to touch and worship every bit of Steve. Instead, he was left empty handed when Steve pulled back. He watched Steve push his pants to the floor, underwear and all, and followed suit.

Steve smirked impishly before grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him out the office door into the main gallery.

“Steve!” Bucky gaped at the windows, the two walls of the gallery that just happened to be made of glass. Steve laughed, flipping a couple of switches, and the lights dimmed. Bucky watched as blinds lowered from the ceiling to shroud every glass panel.

Bucky followed Steve to an upholstered, tufted, double-wide bench in the showcase area of the gallery, where the lighting was warm and soft. Steve conducted the moment, getting Bucky to lie across the bench. Paying close attention, Bucky followed his silent directions. He started to feel as though he were an installation in the gallery, one that Steve was creating with soft touches on his ankles and legs as they were placed where Steve wanted them;, one perpendicular to the bench, resting on his foot, the other angled with his outer thigh and calf resting on the leather upholstery.

Bucky reached for Steve, his fingertips coming into brief contact with Steve’s collarbone and chest before he was out of reach again. Steve crawled onto the bench to kneel between Bucky’s legs, back within arm’s length before long. “I want to touch you, Steve.” He moved his leg to rub against Steve’s side and put his hand on Steve’s arm as Steve leaned over him.

“Touch me, then.”

Steve planted kisses on Bucky’s chest, drawing an imaginary line to his sternum. He put both hands firmly on Bucky’s pecs, squeezing. Bucky bit down on his lip, rolling his hips, arching to get closer. Steve’s tongue caressed Bucky’s nipple, and Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s head, before running his fingers through the short, spiky blond mess. “Steve,” the word hung there as Steve nipped and licked at each nipple, dragging his lips and sometimes his tongue between them.

Bucky’s fingers traced the curves of Steve’s head and neck down over Celtic knot tattoo between his shoulder blades. Steve looked up, meeting Bucky’s gaze and Bucky pushed him back, guiding him to sit on the bench so he could touch and taste him too. Steve sat back on his hands with his legs splayed. The smirk on his face was challenging, but his lash-veiled eyes were welcoming.

Steve’s lip caught between his teeth and Bucky’s first move was to kiss it free, roughly smashing their lips together, then tenderly, before entangling his tongue with Steve’s. Bucky trailed kisses over Steve’s jaw, smiling against his pulse when his groan of protest escaped. He nipped the throbbing spot, sucking and biting there hard enough to draw color to the surface. “You still smell so good,” Bucky groaned between bites.

Steve’s hands were everywhere, in Bucky’s hair, pulling him closer, on his shoulders, gripping and then pushing away, before pulling back again and mirroring Bucky’s intensity. He eased Steve back until he was lying across the bench. He trailed kisses down Steve’s zipper scar, feeling the tiny bumps where wires had held Steve’s sternum together after his surgery. He licked the spot tenderly before moving to Steve’s flat stomach. Bucky’s hand replaced his mouth as he sat cross legged between Steve’s slender thighs. His fingers traced the soft blond happy trail before wrapping around Steve’s cock.

Bucky was fixated on Steve’s face, finding pleasure in the way his mouth softened and his eyes flitted open wider meeting Bucky’s in challenge. Bucky stroked the length, drinking in the view of the rest of Steve’s body. “You’re beautiful. How many times have you told me that versus how many I’ve told you?”

Steve’s breaths came heavily. He looked like he was about to scold Bucky for taking so long, but Bucky grinned. He shifted positions, and with a final flick of his tongue across his lips, he took Steve into his mouth. He felt fingers in his hair, tightening and tugging lightly as Steve’s soft groans intensified to louder cries. He gripped Steve’s thigh as they tightened around his ears, muffling Steve’s warning. A warning that he didn’t need to hear. Bucky sucked Steve off through his climax, something he’d always shied away from trying before now. Before Steve. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky thought he should give the significance of that some thought when he wasn’t quite so preoccupied.

Bucky pulled away slowly, reaching around Steve’s thigh to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand and caught sight of Steve’s head thrown back, exposing his throat and the red mark that was already pooling a deeper shade, well on it’s way to aubergine. His chest and his own aroused length brushed against Steve’s smooth, pinkened skin as he moved to lick the expanse of Steve’s throat before tackling his mouth aggressively, sharing hints of Steve’s own sex with the brazen kiss.

“Tell me again?” Steve brushed Bucky’s hair from his forehead, smiling, his mouth a mere breath away from Bucky’s lips.

“You’re beautiful, gorgeous, stunning. You’re a masterpiece.” Bucky peppered kisses along Steve’s jaw with each word.

Steve sat up, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck as Bucky eased back. “You’re ravishing.”

“Liar.” Bucky grinned, knowing this time _he_ was the liar.

“You are. You should be a permanent feature here, you deserve to be cherished.” Steve touched Bucky’s face, before trailing his hand down over Bucky’s arm - what was left. Bucky chuckled at the thought, causing Steve to frown at him.

He moved his stump under Steve’s hand. “You were caressing my arm. What’s _left_ of _my_ left?.”

“I hate you.” Steve bit his lip hard enough to make it white around his teeth.

“You don’t.” Bucky grinned. “You loved that joke almost as much as you love me.”

“If you’re looking for a confession, you interrupted it with your incredibly stupid joke.” Steve was actively fighting a smile now, and Bucky couldn’t resist kissing it loose.

“I’m really sorry. What were you going to say, gorgeous?”

“Nope.” Steve shook his head, avoiding another kiss. “You stuck your dumb joke in there, so it’s your turn.”

“Let’s see.” Bucky rested on his elbow, looking at his hand instead of at Steve. “You were gonna say…”

“No, you don’t get to do that. You can’t fill in the blanks.” Steve kissed Bucky roughly.

“You’re sexy when you’re pouting.” Bucky had to move from his side to touch Steve. He sat up, pulling Steve across him and running his hand up and down Steve’s spine. “You’re sexy when you’re not, too.”

“You’re kinda cute when you’re making dumb jokes.” Steve wriggled on Bucky’s thighs before rolling his hips against Bucky’s.

“I guess I deserve that.” Bucky’s breathing was heavier as Steve’s movements became more elaborate, grinding against him with abandon.

Steve was secretly glad for Bucky’s dumb joke because it gave him time to rein in his emotions. He’d been shocked to see Bucky in the doorway after weeks of no contact. Things were back on track to move too quickly, and he was ready to accept the consequences, but maybe declarations could wait until they had other tensions out of the way.

With no condoms or lube, and zero desire for a dry bareback fuck, Steve contented himself and was obviously doing Bucky a service rubbing against him. The skin to skin contact felt incredible, as did the friction caused by the closeness of their bodies. Bucky’s hand slid over the small of Steve’s back and his fingers traced the cleft in his cheeks, making Steve’s body shudder.

As Bucky rutted against him, Steve could tell Bucky was getting close. He could probably make him come without even touching him, and the thought was a heady one. He pushed Bucky back against the bench with his palms against Bucky’s shoulders, not taking his eyes from Bucky’s face as he undulated against him, their cocks trapped between them. He took them both in hand, bringing Bucky over the edge with just a few strokes. Bucky’s uninhibited sounds of pleasure were a pure joy, something he hadn’t heard last time with his hearing aid laying across the room.

“Say it again,” Steve grunted as he pressed his chest against Bucky’s after they caught their breath. “Say it without my hand on your junk.”

“I love you.” Bucky smiled crookedly, running his fingers through Steve’s sweat-dampened hair. “I love you, Stevie.”

“See, I was going there, and you went off into left field with that ‘left hand’ comment.” Steve’s hands pillowed his chin on Bucky’s chest.

“ _Arm_ Stevie, left _arm._ You were?” Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk made Steve laugh and fueled something devious. Making Bucky wait would be delicious.

“How would you feel if I drew you right now?”

“Naked? In the middle of the gallery?”

“Yeah, as you exist right this moment.”

“Only if I can draw you,” Bucky chuckled.

“Deal.” Steve moved from atop Bucky and walked to the back room, calling over his shoulder. “Remember the first pose?”

“You mean when your hands were all over me?”

Steve smiled as he hurried through the door and grabbed two sketch books and a handful of pencils and pens. His amusement was replaced by fondness when he saw Bucky nearly perfectly replicating the position Steve had first placed him in. He set the books down and gently adjusted just a couple of things, fluffing Bucky’s hair over his shoulder, and moving his left arm just enough to expose more of the tattooed scars.

“You can move as soon as I get the initial image. I want you to be comfortable, but you might have to do this again.”

“Okay.”

Steve smiled as he sat on the floor a few feet away from Bucky, still naked, sticky, and sweaty, but inspired. He sketched Bucky’s position in a couple of thumbnail sketches, his expression in a couple more, and made notes for the lighting coloration.

“How’s Clint?”

“Thinks you’re better off without me and thinks I’m a dingbat for staying away.”

“I like him.” Steve smirked, winking at Bucky. “You know? You’d make an amazing artist’s model. Something about your face. Your jawline is divine, you have stunning bone structure and musculature.”

“Is that all?”

Steve cracked up at Bucky’s feigned effrontery. “Well, now that you mention it…”

“Well.” Bucky sat up when Steve signaled that he could. He reached for the extra sketch book and a pencil. “I’ve already decided that your face was created by a master artist. You have the best combination of soft and strong. Your lashes are gifts from the fae. I don’t even know what mystical pool was the inspiration for the color of your eyes.”

“If your art is as creative as your prose, I’ll feature everything you produce,” Steve laughed.

“Hey, it’s all true.” Bucky leaned forward, really getting into his drawing.

Steve watched as Bucky considered him and added lines to the paper. “I want to paint and draw and do digital art of you. I’d hang them here replacing them every time they sold.”

“You’re funny, Steve.” Bucky’s smile was indulgent but his voice was emotional. Steve was practically certain his ‘love declaration’ was getting through.

“I’m not trying to be amusing. You’re a fucking masterpiece. You belong in a gallery.”

“If I do, God only knows you have for longer. Hey, Steve? Did I ever tell you that I can’t draw?”

Steve looked up to see a heavy-handed stick figure supposedly sitting with it’s legs crossed.

“Oh my god!” Steve laughed. “I love it almost as much as I love you.” He got up from the floor and rushed to Bucky, wrapping his arms around his neck. “That’s the worst picture of me ever.”

“I’m glad you like it.” With a grin, Bucky grazed the skin on Steve’s neck as he kissed it. “You can hang it here.”

“I’m framing this and putting it up in the studio. Jesus, Bucky, I’ve missed the way you make me feel, the way I laugh when you’re around.”

“Me too.” Bucky kissed Steve again, running his hand over the back of his head, through the soft, short hairs.

“Come home with me?” Steve’s forehead rested against Bucky’s throat, feeling the steady thump of his pulse.

“Yeah.” Bucky sighed, making Steve melt a little. “I’d really like that.”


	13. Epilogue

“Shit! HOLY SHIT!! FUCK WHO LET ME DRIVE?!” Bucky was screaming and laughing with joy as he tore up the test track with the customized sportscar. Steve was in the passenger seat laughing along with him, even as he gripped the seat, the door, or whatever he could grab onto.

The car tires squealed around the first corner and Steve could swear one side lifted from the ground, but by the second turn, Bucky had a better idea of how to handle the car and the track. The trees and grass on the side of the road passed them by in a blur of green and brown shades. There were more than a few more moments of pure adrenaline before Bucky pulled the car to a stop.

His gloved hand flexed on the steering ball before he cut the engine and they both climbed out of the car, legs still shaking as they laughed.

“So? You liked it huh?” Steve asked, pulling his helmet off.

“What a rush!” Bucky held his own helmet in his prosthetic hand and grabbed Steve around the waist, pulling him close and kissing him, obviously not caring that he was doing so in front of a small crowd of strangers. Steve kissed back.

“You are an animal behind the wheel,” Steve laughed as he reluctantly pushed away from Bucky. “I’m still sorry I sold the Jag before we got to do this.”

“I’m not worried about that, who can blame you? There’s no use paying for registration and garage fees when you didn’t even know if you’d see me again. Besides, we’re finally getting that ‘ _planned date_ ’ and our getaway weekend.”

“Five months later,” Steve scoffed.

“Blame me. It’s been hectic with school and work. Besides, I’ve enjoyed the impromptu dinners and sidewalk lunches. We are far from traditional, Stevie.”

“No, we’re not traditional at all, are we?” Steve chuckled again. He gripped Bucky’s hand, stopping him from leaving the track. “Bucky?”

“Yeah? Everything okay, Stevie?”

“Of course.” Steve shook off the concern with a tender smile. “I was just gonna ask if you’d be non-traditional with me at my place. I mean if Clint can afford to lose a roommate.”

“You want me to move in with you?”

“I’m just gonna leave that there,” Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand. “You can answer me when it sinks in.”

Bucky tugged back, pulling Steve against him. “I’m answering right now. Yes! I - I...” he hesitated before abruptly changing course. “It will make things so much easier for Clint,” Bucky laughed. “He’s still cursing us for not leaving a warning on your birthday.”

“For Clint?” The words were clipped and Steve put his hands between them on Bucky’s chest.

“But Steve, I’m not finished, this is _not_ about Clint. We’re together more than we’re not. I really enjoy your company, I love being with you, I love you. You know my problems, you’ve dealt with my nightmares and if you want to be subjected to that on a permanent basis--” Bucky grinned, “--well, I’ll see if my therapist has any specials or coupon codes. Besides, Clint’s a big boy and can find ways to entertain himself.”

With a relieved sigh, and a little internal diatribe about getting too sensitive about things, Steve put his arms around Bucky’s neck.

“He _is_ going to be so bored.” Steve finally let himself laugh at the memory of poor Clint and his girlfriend walking in on their celebrations, right in the middle of the living room. “Whatever will he do for entertainment?”

“I don’t even care,” Bucky’s relief was evident in his softer smile. He nuzzled Steve’s neck. “Let’s get off the track. Some of these guys are probably at the end of their tolerance.”

“Fuck ‘em.”

“Wrong audience,” Bucky laughed.

“Okay, then let’s get off the track. We can go to our hotel and you can fuck me,” Steve teased. “Or the other way ‘round if you’d like.”

“I like your style, Stevie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Heartfelt thanks to my beta [Liv](http:/whorebucky.tumblr.com) for enduring my consistent issues with punctuation!! It appears I'm doomed to repeat the same errors forever. Where would I be without you?!
> 
> My artist [linguastrata](http://linguastrata.tumblr.com/) signed on as a second, but stepped up when my original artist had to back out, thank you for taking up the slack!


End file.
